Expanding the Oecumene
by AAmuse
Summary: The events taking place during Spock’s final year at Starfleet Academy continue to shape him into the person and officer he will become. A tale about friendship and adventure.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer**: Star Trek characters belong to Paramount. Tora is mine.

**Author's note**: The story is set during Spock's last year at Starfleet Academy. References to _Vulcan's Glory_ by D.C. Fontana (I borrowed Caitlin Barry from that one) and _The Entropy Effect_ by Vonda McIntyre, but nothing very important.

**Beta****s: **SLWatson**, **Verenna

**Editor**: Lil black dog. _Thank you, Cuppy, for supplying me with ammunition for my eternal struggle with the English language. To quote T'Pau, this fight is to the death. Meaning obviously that I will either succeed in killing it or die trying. ;-)_

**Warnings:** A mild case of adult language

**Codes/Rating**: S, Pike, N1, OC. General.

**Summary**: The events taking place during Spock's final year at Starfleet Academy continue to shape him into the person and officer he will become. A tale about friendship and adventure.

'

'

**Expanding the Oecumene**

By

Anna Amuse

'

_There are places I remember _

_All my life though some have changed_

_Some forever not for better_

_Some have gone and some remain_

_All these places have their moments_

_With lovers and friends I still can recall_

_Some are dead and some are living_

_In my life I've loved them all_

_-_

_But of all these friends and lovers_

_There is no one compares with you_

_And these memories lose their meaning _

_When I think of love as something new_

_Though I know I'll never lose affection_

_For people and things that went before_

_I know I'll often stop and think about them_

_In my life I love you more_

The Beatles, In My Life

'

'

**Chapter 1**

The lazy afternoon sun was tapping gently at the San Francisco bay, sending splashes of light over the dozing city. The mischievous, naughty drops of sunlight were playing touch with well-seasoned roofs, green park lanes and busy squares. They were winking impishly at each other from every window, making an occasional passerby stop and blink, giving the lights the time to tease their eyelashes with more golden glimmer.

Chris Pike stood leaning on the parapet over the familiar cheerfully greenish grounds of Starfleet Academy. The mid-May air was sweet, almost intoxicating, inducing everyone who happened to inhale it with nothing but pleasant, relaxed thoughts. Chris Pike was no exception. He had fought the effect for some time when he had first arrived at that spot, but it had been long since that his pose became less rigid, and his face assumed a peaceful, pensive expression, with some hints of a smile curling around his lips.

His thoughts drifted away casually, as he watched cadets and officers walking across the lanes, talking, sitting on the grass, playing hover ball. A long time had passed since Chris had last been here. He hadn't been overly enthusiastic about visiting the place again, but now that he was here, he couldn't help remembering his own days as a cadet. It wasn't all that bad, he thought blandly. But it felt like a very, very long time ago.

"Captain Pike?"

He straightened up instantly, whirling around on the spot, not quite jumping to attention, but coming close to it.

"Admiral Reese."

The Head of Starfleet Academy was a slightly chubby middle-aged man, with silvery-white hair and twinkling light-brown eyes. The Admiral smiled at Pike gently.

"At ease, Captain," he said, extending his hand. "You're among friends here. It's nice to see you again, Chris."

"Likewise, sir," Pike said, returning the shake.

The Admiral sighed and shook his head. Last time they saw each other, he had almost managed to convince Pike to call him by his given name. But for some reason, informal settings never came naturally to one Chris Pike.

"Let's take a walk," Reese gestured to the shadowy alley.

Silently, Pike agreed, and, without much hurry, they descended the crumbling staircase and walked under the shade of the old oaks.

"How have you been, Chris?" Reese asked nonchalantly, sighing inwardly at the younger man's somberness.

"Fine, sir," came the prompt answer.

"Congratulations on the _Enterprise_. She's a fine ship."

"A very fine ship, Admiral."

"You've been on board already?" Pike merely looked at him, and the Admiral chuckled. "Of course you have. Must have been the first thing you did when you got back."

"Not the first thing," Pike smiled a bit ruefully. "I went to see my mother first."

"How's she doing?" Reese asked with genuine concern.

"Fine, sir," Pike bit his lip. "She talks to her squirrels. A lot. I stayed for two days and I wasn't sure if she said nearly as much to me as she did to them."

"What is she talking to them about?"

"Everything," Pike shrugged. "The weather. Her health. Me."

Reese looked at him sympathetically.

"She's not getting younger, Christopher."

"I know."

They walked in silence for a few moments, while the Admiral was getting ready to change the subject. The cadets who happened on their path gave way with a respectful nod or a formal salute. Their eagerness made Pike cringe inwardly, as he remembered himself at their age.

"Have you heard about the big maneuvers?" Reese asked blandly, giving him a sideways glance.

"On Federation Day?" Pike asked grimly. "I assume that's why they held up our launch. Want to make us waltz for the President."

"It's the anniversary of the foundation of the Federation," the Admiral admonished him softly. "It's an important date, Chris."

"I know, but surely there are other ships that can do the honors of flying in circles between Earth and Centauri Prime. The _Enterprise_ is a long-range mission vessel. They need us in the Bordering Zone."

"And you'll get there as soon as the festivities are over," Reese said. "Another four days won't make that much difference."

"Four days?" surprised, Pike stopped in his tracks. "Admiral, just how big are these maneuvers?"

Reese grinned.

"Big enough for the _Enterprise_ to feel one of many."

They resumed their walk slowly, as the news sank in.

"There is actually quite a program planned," Reese continued. "I think even you would find it challenging, Christopher."

Pike looked unconvinced, but it was clear that he had accepted the inevitable delay.

"I'll need to cut my crew's shoreleaves short," he said. "Not a prospect I'm looking forward to."

"That's the pleasant part of it, you won't have to," the Admiral turned to look at him with a soft smile. "Why do you think I asked you here, Chris? You'll have most of your crew back on board by tomorrow anyway, right? The rest will be filled by our senior cadets."

Pike came to an abrupt stop, as if having bumped into an unexpected obstacle. He was staring in the Admiral's smiling face horrified.

"Cadets?" he asked hoarsely. "Richard, you can't do this to me."

"Do what to you?" the Admiral raised his eyebrows innocently. "They are Starfleet cadets, Chris, not zoo monkeys. What's more, they're graduates, six months from their final tests. We're giving you the best of the best."

Pike was watching him sternly.

"Whose idea was this in the first place?"

"Why, mine if you must know," Reese grunted, averting his eyes. "We've got to show our accomplishments, too, Chris. What do you want my kids to do—give a concert on the training ground?"

Pike grimaced.

"How about a cutter parade? That's what we did."

"They're doing it, too," Reese waved his hand dismissively in the air. "And they are stationed on every starship. Really, Christopher, they are not children. You can entrust some minor operations to them."

At this very moment, a frisbee came flying directly at them, and it was only Pike's well-developed reflexes that allowed him to catch the disk in midair, before it reached his face. Holding the offending toy firmly in his grasp, Pike turned to Reese, looking belligerent.

"My ship is state-of-the-art technology, Admiral. Do you really want to let this," he shook the disk emphatically, "loose on board?"

The Admiral only shrugged, unimpressed.

"We'll tell them not to bring those."

Pike gritted his teeth to suppress a growl.

"Admiral, sir!" A young boy, obviously one of the first-years, was standing in front of them at his parade best. "Permission to address the Captain, sir?"

"I believe this is yours," Pike said coolly at Reese's nod.

"Sir, yes, sir!" the boy yelled with nervous enthusiasm. "I'm terribly sorry, sir!"

"So am I," Pike muttered. "Cadet."

"Sir!"

"Your aim is lousy."

"Yes, sir!"

"Unless you want to pull additional shifts in the gym, I suggest you make your aim better."

"Yes, sir!"

"This thing isn't balanced properly," Pike commented, studying the frisbee. Then, without warning, he made a quick backswing and threw the disk forward giving it breathtaking momentum.

The three men along with a dozen other spectators watched the disk disappear in the shiny sky to come back down almost at the opposite side of the park. At the final point of its descent, it hit the surface of the small pond and jumped off it several times, spilling sparkles of water over a group of female cadets sitting at the pond's edge. The girls screamed. The spectators giggled and cheered, and the frisbee's owner whistled in appreciation. Pike shot him a forbidding glance, and the boy stiffened to attention once more.

"Target practice is important," Pike said in a stern voice. "You certainly could use some."

"Yes, sir! Thank you, sir!"

"Dismissed," Reese broke in, much to the boy's relief. He lost no time leaving.

Pike fought to suppress a smirk.

"Sucker."

Reese laughed. "You enjoyed it."

"I most certainly did not," he looked at the Admiral and sighed. "All right. I'll take them. But," he stressed the word pointedly. "Don't give me anyone for Command piloting. Non-essentials are fine. Medics, scientists... Engineers are fine, too," he added suddenly as if struck with an idea. Mischief kindled in his eyes. "My Chief Engineer has been complaining about being bored. Let her have some fun with the youngsters."

Reese shook his head in exasperation.

"You are impossible."

"No Command students, Richard," Pike reiterated firmly. "The rest I think I can handle."

"Chris, sooner or later you're going to have to start coaching people in Command," the Admiral said with a sigh. "It's one of the captain's duties."

"I've only been captain for three years, Admiral."

"And you've seen and done in these three years more than others have in thirty. What you did just now," Reese nodded in the direction of the retreated frisbee player, "it counts, too. You're a good teacher, Chris. I remember how you helped the younger cadets when you were here. You have a natural gift."

Pike listened to him without interrupting, though the frown on his face had deepened. He met the Admiral's gaze squarely.

"No Command students. That's final."

Reese sighed. "Very well. Somehow I knew you were going to say this. We've made a list of candidates already. They'll report to you tomorrow at oh-eight hundred. That's all right with you?"

"Fine, sir. If that is all?"

The Admiral smiled somewhat sadly.

"I suppose you can't be persuaded to stay for dinner with me and Muriel?"

The renewed tension that flooded Pike's features was almost palpable.

"Under other circumstances I'd be honored, sir, but I have to—"

"That's all right," Reese interrupted him. "You have a schedule to meet, I know. I'll see you the day after tomorrow."

"Thank you, Admiral."

They shook hands, and Reese headed back for the main building. Pike stood in the comforting shadow of the tall oak trees for another minute or two. His schedule was tight indeed, and savoring sweet mid-May air was not part of it. This treacherous air was notorious for making one's guard go down, and that could bring nothing but trouble.

With a determined frown, Pike reached for his communicator and called for a beam up.

--

"I thought climbing trees was illogical."

Spock looked up from his cozy setting among the branches to find Tora smiling at him, somewhat reproachfully. The branch she was standing on was trembling ominously under her considerable weight.

"I required solitude," he said, offering her a hand so that she could reach a safer position. She nodded gratefully and sat down carefully next to him. The huge crown of the old oak was hiding them effectively from view.

"What's all this?" she nodded at the pile of padds sitting in a natural wooden hold.

"The notes I've taken on the conference and the data I need to process before my next test."

Tora regarded the mounting pile thoughtfully for a moment, then decided to let it go.

"We were waiting for you last night, you know," she said keeping her tone light.

He looked up at her, startled, and she suppressed a sigh.

"Forgot again?"

"It would appear that way," he said slowly, his cheeks turning slightly greenish. "I ask forgiveness."

"It's okay," she forced her smile to return. "I figured you might have changed your mind. But I stopped by your room later, and Peter said you never showed up."

"How would Mr. Wells know that?"

Tora chuckled.

"Pete keeps tabs on everyone who lives on his floor, didn't you know?"

"Indeed, his observation skills are... impressive."

"So where were you?" she asked again, watching him closely. "It's not like you to disappear without a word. I was worried."

Spock looked away, as if fighting off embarrassment.

"Doctor Daystrom hosted a seminar at the Tokyo Computer Technology and Cybernetic Center. I attended."

She stared at him incredulously.

"All the way from here to Tokyo in one night?"

"Not in one night," he shook his head, still not meeting her eyes. "The seminar ended early in the evening. It was still midday in Europe. It was possible for me to make it in time for Professor Lafayette's class in Sorbonne. And then—"

"And then you couldn't help visiting d'Orsay again."

"The late impressionists," he confirmed even softer. "I was always... fascinated by their works, and..."

He trailed off helplessly, while she didn't know whether to laugh or to yell at him. She opted for the latter, softening her tone considerably.

"There's only one way you could have done all that in twenty-four hours. And I know for a fact, Mr. Phileas Fogg, that you've spent your transporter credits through some three weeks ago. I don't think the editors of those scientific journals are paying you for submissions, so where the hell did you get the money?"

He was quiet, staring fixedly at the distant horizon.

"Well?" she pressed menacingly, with determination of a good Security officer. "Cat got your tongue?"

His blush became more pronounced, as he finally looked up at her.

"The Public Transporter System requires constant maintenance. It includes tryout transportation."

Her eyes narrowed suspiciously.

"How did you convince the operator to use you for one?"

Spock looked away.

"This mode could be engaged automatically. It requires access codes, but it is not difficult to override this safeguard."

"Really?" She stared at him, incensed. "Tell me, just how much extra 'maintenance' did you perform?"

Spock bowed his head.

"You do not understand. Doctor Daystrom was only on Earth for one day. I studied his works on integrated computer systems and artificial intelligence. I could not miss an opportunity like this."

"Oh, really?" she was clearly angry now. "What if someone caught you tampering with essential systems? It's not even within Academy grounds, you've been doing it on a planetary scale! You know what they'll do to you if they catch you?"

He sighed, still not meeting her eyes.

"That is a highly unlikely possibility. I have been using this means of travel to obtain more knowledge for three point two years now. There have never been any complications."

"So they aren't smart enough to catch you, huh? That makes it all right somehow? What if someone gets wind of this and reports you?"

Spock glanced up at her. "You are the only person in the know," he said.

"Well, what if _I_ report you?" she asked, irritated to the core. "I am a Security officer-to-be, in case you've forgotten."

"Indeed." His calm gaze was boring into hers still, his tone infuriatingly even. "It is your direct duty to report any such transgression."

"Then, why are you telling me all this?" she asked in frustration.

He raised an eyebrow.

"You requested the information."

Tora groaned at the face of such naivety. It was impossible to continue to feel angry with him. She saw nothing but trust in his slightly confused eyes, and her annoyance transformed into exasperation. How could a creature like that possibly survive on his own in this cynical and cruel world?

"It didn't occur to you," she said, with a mixture of pity and scorn, "that I might have had an ulterior motive? It didn't occur to you that when someone's asking a question like this you might wanna keep the truth to yourself—in order, you know, not to go to prison?"

His gaze remained serene, though an imperceptible wave of deepening seriousness washed over his features.

"You are a close associate of mine. I found it dishonorable to be untruthful with you."

She let out a sad laugh. "The word 'friend' simply isn't in your vocabulary, is it, Spock?" she paused, trying to find some means of reaching him. "Doesn't the thought that what you're doing is illegal bother you at all? It's cheating. And it's hardly safe."

"I am the only one taking the risk and I do it voluntarily."

"So that's how you deal with your conscience? You know, Vulcan terms of morality never cease to amaze me."

Spock looked away again, and Tora had a distinct impression that this time she managed to get to him.

"I have been told before that I am not an ideal Vulcan," he began to speak slowly, looking fixedly at his hands. "If there were any other way, I would never... But Doctor Daystrom was only on Earth for one day. He is the chief designer of all modern integrated computer systems. There was so much I wished to hear him explain, like his new network algorithms or power recirculation—he hasn't published his findings in this area yet, and..."

He continued to talk, but Tora stopped listening, concentrating on watching him instead. His speech was getting quicker and more passionate than he would care to admit, as he progressed deeper into the scientific fields. Gradually, his embarrassment melted, and he was now positively beaming with enthusiasm, or as beaming as a Vulcan could get. His eyes became alight as his fascination with the subject grew, and he even made a couple of gestures to emphasize his point, which was so blatantly against his Vulcan upbringing that one couldn't wish for a better indicator to measure his eagerness.

She sighed inwardly. She had heard it all before, numerous times. Computer science. Biomechanics. Interstellar Law. Archaeology. Warp theory. History. Stellar Chemistry. Astrophysics. She could not think of a subject or a field of study for which Spock wouldn't have shown keenness or at least a passing interest. After swallowing, almost literally, every byte of information the library computers could supply him with, he started to diligently follow every written or spoken word of every major expert in the field.

Tora remembered vividly, how he smuggled himself to Lunaport on a mail courier vessel in order to attend Liza Borova's lecture on exobiology. Doctor Borova had a reputation throughout the quadrant, and Tora shivered to think exactly how Spock managed to get admittance to the event. But then, it was a minor mystery, compared to him participating in the debates on interspecies cultural exchange held in the Andorian Embassy, or him being present at Professor Lee's conference dedicated to the Prime Directive and its applications.

She had no idea how he managed all this when, in point of fact, no cadet was allowed to even leave campus without permission. But that, Tora had to admit grudgingly, was the easiest part. There hardly was any single cadet who didn't manage to take an unauthorized walk every once in a while. Though, admittedly, they didn't go all the way to Jupiter Station and back, when they did so.

And with all that, Spock was never known to miss a class or to be caught on the grounds after curfew.

It wasn't that she didn't understand his zeal for knowledge. But she couldn't grasp what he meant to accomplish with all this mildly chaotic activity. Not to mention that he was frequently in trouble with one or two Academy instructors and quite frankly had no financial means to support his endeavors.

Spock never talked at length about his family, but Tora got the impression that it was an important one. Spock also mentioned once that he owned some property on Vulcan, including land and real estate. She remembered asking him, quite bluntly, why he wouldn't use those funds, which must be considerable, to at the very least buy some normal civilian clothes.

When they had just met she thought he was always wearing his uniform because of some heightened sense of duty and respect for the service, until she discovered that he quite simply had no other clothes that would fit. Reluctantly, Spock had explained that he still continued to grow when he first came to Earth from Vulcan, and since then he didn't have the opportunity 'to acquire new garments.' Not that he needed any, of course.

Of course, she snorted then, looking at him incredulously. How could he own a _quarter_ of a city and not be able to pay for his plomeek soup had he wished to seek some off campus, she asked, perplexed. Spock frowned then and explained, studying the nearest wall, rather than looking at her, that the property in question had been a family possession until his birth when he automatically inherited it.

'I cannot legally return the property to my family,' he said. 'It is mine by birthright and it will pass back to them only with my death. My father considers me to be an unworthy heir of the House. At this point, I tend to agree with him in this assessment. I did not do anything to earn this estate, and although I cannot refuse it, using its funds does not seem proper under the circumstances.'

'Hold on a second,' she couldn't quite grasp it. 'You won't use the money, which is yours and not your family's, because... because you're too proud to do so?'

He did look at her then, and she could have sworn his eyes flashed with some unidentifiable emotion.

'Pride is a human trait to which I am not prone. I believe I have sufficiently explained my reasoning. I would consider further inquiry in the subject prying.'

'As you wish,' she said. 'But it's not like I'm trying to talk you into buying a personal dome on Mars. A new sweater maybe? I know you're cold in this pathetic coat they give us. Hell, Spock, even I'm freezing if I don't put on something underneath my uniform during field training. For you, it must be—'

'The level of discomfort is not critical.'

'Does it have to be? Look, you don't want to use your own money for some crazy reason, fine. Why on earth can't you take this up with your supervising officer? He's there to help you, you know. Or is it beneath your would-be absent pride as well?'

'Human capacity for interfering with matters that do not concern them is truly limitless,' he snapped then. 'This discussion will now cease.'

The conversation happened fairly early in their association, and Tora lost no time leaving him alone, furious that she'd been wasting time trying to help an arrogant bastard who clearly didn't want any assistance. She'd been fuming for a couple of weeks in her own corner. She never noticed the moment when she started to debate silently whether she should alert Spock's supervisor herself, for he clearly was determined not to utter a word.

'Stubborn ass' were the words that frequently came to her mind whenever she happened to catch sight of him, but still she didn't say anything. Some well-grounded instinct was telling her clearly that Spock would never forgive her for exposing him in this manner, and although he still was labeled as an undeserving idiot in her mind, she couldn't bring herself to do it.

Instead, she went to a familiar shop and bought a nice cozy sweater made of the finest Andorian wool, thin yet warm and pleasant to the skin.

Spock bluntly refused to take it.

'You are not a member of my family. You and I are not in a relationship. I cannot accept any gift from you.'

They were in his room, where she had invited herself unasked. She looked in his closed, set face and wanted nothing better than to walk out and never talk to him again. He didn't even try to make it a polite refusal. He clearly wanted her to leave.

'Take it as a payment,' she heard her own voice unexpectedly. 'For tutoring me.'

Spock raised an eyebrow.

'Tutoring in exchange for any kind of wealth, as well as any other paid activity, is strictly forbidden within Academy grounds,' he said.

'That's only for the subjects they teach us,' she told him, harvesting her sudden inspiration. 'I wish to study Vulcan language.'

This time, his surprise was more evident.

'For what purpose?'

'So that I could tell one stupid, arrogant, self-important and damn stubborn son of a bitch to learn a little appreciation. Clearly, common English is beyond his comprehension.'

Spock looked at her for a very long time.

'Why are you so determined to help me?' he asked at last.

She grinned, sensing a close victory.

'I have no idea. Why don't you make use of it, until I've figured it out?'

And she shoved the sweater into his arms again. Spock hesitated for another eternity, making her wish to strangle him, then finally accepted it.

'On one condition,' he said. 'This will be the one and only gift you will ever give me.'

She smirked. 'I wasn't planning on buying you a wardrobe anyway. So how about that lesson now?'

Spock deposited the sweater on his bunk, looking pensive.

'Very well,' he said at last, turning back to her. 'Repeat after me. _Ayie lim meh ka'tur mayan shkrwatzuh Vulkhan'su den kyrrh a'meh._'

'Whoa.' Having meant the whole thing as a joke, she wasn't expecting this. 'Could you say that again?'

Spock repeated. Slowly, patiently, word by word, until she finally managed to remember the whole phrase. However, he wasn't satisfied. He continued pestering her for the better part of an hour, trying to make her pronunciation 'discernable at least'. By the end of the exercise, Tora, who had always considered herself a complete language idiot, was positively fuming with effort. She was hugely relieved when Spock had finally pronounced her attempt acceptable.

'_Ayie lim meh ka'tur mayan shkrwatzuh Vulkhan'su den kyrrh a'meh_,' she said again in one go, happy that she had achieved it. 'What does it mean anyway?'

Spock lifted an eyebrow at her.

'I am surprised you did not ask me before. It means: I am the most illogical human any Vulcan could ever have the misfortune to meet.'

'What?' she stared at him, furious. 'You son of a bitch! You spent an hour making sure that the only Vulcan phrase I would ever learn in my life would be something like that?'

'Indeed,' he confirmed calmly. 'It has been... gratifying hearing you finally say something reasonable.'

'Reasonable?!' she started at him, raising her fists instinctively. Only then did she catch a barely concealed, definitely amused glint in his eyes. 'Spock,' she let out accusingly. 'You're laughing at me!'

'I am not.'

'Yes, you are, dammit! You smug Vulcan imp, you're practically howling with laughter! Son of a bitch,' she took a deep breath with difficulty, shaking her head in indignation. 'Son of a bitch. What does it really mean?'

He was looking at her with an enigmatic expression, while she balanced between fury and mirth.

'It means: This human is a friend of Vulcan people,' he said.

'Oh,' she breathed out, instantly sobered. 'Why third person?'

'It is an ancient formula,' he explained. 'It is familiar to any Vulcan. It used to refer to the representatives of other cultures, before that—of other clans. Those who used it were automatically granted protection. It does not have any legal force now, however.'

'But your people still remember it.'

'Indeed.'

She nodded thoughtfully then and left shortly. And on her way back to her own room, she couldn't decide what had just happened there. Did Spock simply teach her a bit of Vulcan courtesy to get her out of the door? Or did he admit, however indirectly, that he needed a friend? She didn't know.

She still didn't know now, almost three years later. It was always guessing with Spock, never knowing. As precise as he was in his scientific projects, he was vague at best when talking about anything remotely personal, if he could be pushed into talking about any such subject at all.

"Spock," she said resolutely, interrupting his animated retelling of Doctor Daystrom's last article. "I couldn't care less if he invented the next best thing since dilithium. You can't continue screwing the rules as if they were written for someone else, not you."

He blinked, having been knocked abruptly off his high horse.

"Some of these rules are illogical."

"It's not your place to decide that!" she flared up again. "These rules have been working fine for every Starfleet cadet for decades now! We're not gonna throw them out of the window just because Spock of Vulcan says he's too good for them! I gotta tell you, you've got some nerve—"

"Shh," he raised his hand suddenly to silence her.

"What the hell?" she asked irritably, but he just shook his head, listening intently.

In a moment, Tora heard it too. Someone was definitely circling under the tree. Simultaneously, they glanced at each other in mute inquiry: Did they hear us? But it became clear almost instantly that it was too late for worrying about that.

"Hey, Bonnie and Clyde," the familiar voice of Lieutenant Ridley came loud and clear from below. "Get down here. Now."

Shooting a disgusted look at Spock, Tora started to climb down carefully. He was faster than her, as always. By the time she reached the lower branches, he was already standing on the ground, ready to catch her.

Lieutenant Max Ridley hid a smile, as he watched Spock assisting Tora to the ground. There was something distinctly amusing in a slender, rather fragile looking Vulcan playing gentleman to a young woman easily his height and seemingly twice his weight. Tora Jonnson was not the captain of a rugby team for no reason. There weren't all that many male cadets who fancied being paired up with her in a fighting exercise, much less engaging her in a real fight. She didn't feel particularly comfortable not having her feet on the ground though, that was true. Still, the sight was rather peculiar.

"Sir!" Both cadets snapped to attention in front of him.

Exorcising the ghost of humor, he frowned at them, looking over Tora's rather disheveled hair and the greenish traces on Spock's uniform.

"You do know that climbing trees is forbidden in this park?" Ridley asked strictly.

"Yes, sir!"

They both said it, but it was only Jonnson who actually put some fervor into it. Spock merely bothered to open his mouth in time, or so it seemed. He spoke first, without asking for permission, and in the same calm tone.

"It was my fault, sir. I'm sorry, sir."

Ridley focused his attention on the Vulcan. When he had accepted the position of a supervisor at the Academy some six months ago, he was merely hoping to earn more points for a quicker promotion, as did a lot of his fellow officers of the same rank. The Academy was constantly in need of qualified instructors, but not that many officers preferred such an assignment to starship duty. That was why Starfleet Command offered considerable benefits to those who did decide to devote some time to teaching, and skipping several years of the promotion queue was one of them. This measure didn't attract too many people, but it did attract some, and Max Ridley was among them.

He was filing some hours as a social instructor, but his main job was supervising a group of cadets whose progress was his personal responsibility. In a manner of speaking, he was to be a Big Brother for twelve to sixteen young men and women. With most of them, he got along pretty well, though there were still several who caused him mild headaches every now and then. All in all, his record had been rather successful with one major exception.

At first, when Ridley was informed that his group would include the first Vulcan to ever sign up for the main branch of Starfleet Academy, he was delighted and intrigued. He knew Vulcans to be highly industrious, intelligent and law-abiding creatures, and he expected Cadet Spock to become the shining star of his group.

Only he didn't. Instead, he turned out to be the greatest pain in the ass Ridley had ever met in his life, in Starfleet and beyond.

For starters, Spock was never there. Apart from scheduled classes and practical field assignments, it was virtually impossible to locate him. He haunted the library, the canteen, the gym, was periodically spotted in the general area and in the gardens, but he was never there when one would expect him to be. And then, there was an odd number of hours when Spock couldn't be found anywhere on the grounds, and yet the entrance logs would show that he was there all the time. Ridley remembered spending his first month as a supervisor literally chasing him, trying to 'establish the dialogue in a comfortable environment.' He had given up the idea by the end of the fourth week and simply ordered Spock to report.

He did. Reporting as ordered, looking every bit as prim and serious as Ridley expected him to be, Spock stood respectfully at attention, while his new supervisor was trying to put him more at ease. When Ridley had finally prompted him to speak, he stated that he had no problems, difficulties or questions of any kind, did not believe that he required supervision, but was willing to fulfill any request the Lieutenant might make of him, and respectfully suggested that Ridley's time would be spent more efficiently assisting other cadets.

For a minute or two, Ridley was rendered completely speechless by this odd mixture of emphasized respect and audacity. He tried to make the Vulcan tell him something about his background, but every attempt at questioning in that area was politely but firmly rebuffed. Feeling the urgent need to regroup, he dismissed the cadet.

From then on trouble ensued. Ridley might have been having difficulty locating Spock most of the time, but Spock's instructors had had absolutely no difficulty locating Ridley. Every time one of them ran into him, he was ready to hear an earful, either ecstatic or incensed, but never anything in between. He had become as jumpy at spotting a professor in the corridor as he used to be during his own Academy days. But the worst of it was that Spock always seemed to have a very logical explanation, which Ridley couldn't beat, for whatever wrongdoing he was accused of at any given time. And as a final blow, he always assured Ridley of his readiness to endure whatever disciplinary action the Lieutenant would see fit.

Just as he did now.

Swallowing the reprimand for desecrating the old oak, Ridley handed Spock a padd.

"What do you make of that, Cadet?"

Spock took the padd and studied it carefully for a few moments.

"I am on report," he said, elevating one eyebrow. "With the quartermaster, the Martial Arts instructor, and Professor Nikem."

"Three reprimands in one day—Mr. Spock, are you trying to set a record? Would you mind explaining yourself?" Ridley asked irritably, taking the padd back. "Mr. Happassalla says you have misplaced another uniform. Care to tell me how it happened?"

"Chemistry Lab accident, sir."

"Classwork?" Ridley asked, suspecting the answer.

Spock appeared hesitant.

"Research, sir," he replied with caution. "I was attempting to synthesize a very promising compound. I believe I have found a way to alter the molecular structure of the commonly used plexiglass sufficiently to extend its—"

"Cadet," Ridley interrupted him firmly. "I have already heard as many lectures on chemistry as I needed."

"Yes, sir."

"What happened with Mr. Robertson? He says you were deliberately insubordinate in class. You refused to obey his order."

"Yes, sir."

"Well?"

"Sir?"

"Specify, Cadet. Which order?"

"Sir, Mr. Robertson ordered me to..." Spock suddenly stumbled. "He ordered me to…"

"Sir, Mr. Robertson ordered him to drop his control, sir," Tora said, realizing Spock was no more willing to admit it than he had been to comply.

"Ms. Jonnson?" Ridley turned to her hopefully.

"If I may, sir. I was present at the training session."

"Your group was there, too?"

"Yes, sir. Mr. Robertson divided us into pairs and Cadet Spock was paired up with Cadet Voronin," she reported clearly, ignoring the look Spock was giving her. "Cadet Voronin believed Cadet Spock was holding back, sir. He complained to Mr. Robertson about it, sir."

Ridley glanced at Spock sharply.

"Were you holding back, Cadet?"

"Yes, sir," Spock acknowledged gloomily.

"Mr. Spock, remind me of the purpose of the Martial Arts training."

"To master the practical art of hand-to-hand offence and defense to the best of one's abilities."

"Unless this one doesn't want to stretch his abilities to their limits?"

Spock bowed his head. "No, sir. However..."

"Yes?"

But Spock fell silent. Tora looked at him sidelong, and sensing Ridley's growing displeasure, stepped forward again.

"Sir, Mr. Spock is a Vulcan. He can no more stop controlling his physical reactions than you can stop breathing, sir."

Ridley snapped up at her. "Are you now his advocate, Ms. Jonnson?"

"No, sir."

"I thought not. Cadet, it's hardly the first time Mr. Robertson puts you on report. You have to put more effort into your physical training, is that clear?"

"Yes, sir."

"Look, Spock," Ridley tried a different tack. "I know you don't like to fight very much, and I know in your first year there were... accidents. But if you are going to be a Starfleet officer, you're going to have to do it. Yes," he added, interpreting Spock's frown correctly. "Even officers serving on science vessels have to do it from time to time. The galaxy isn't as peaceful as your home planet, Mr. Spock."

"Indeed, sir."

"Now, about Professor Nikem. Why have you dropped the course? Temporal Mechanics is a major field of study for a science officer. You cannot graduate without completing it."

"Sir, Professor Nikem only allows one theory to be correct in his class," Spock said. "His own. I do not share it, for it is clearly flawed."

Ridley's jaw dropped.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Dr. Mordreaux, as well as a number of other scientists, has developed a much more convincing theory regarding temporal equations. Professor Nikem has forbidden us to acknowledge it in any way, despite its clear advantages over that of his own. I cannot agree to that. Such a position is illogical and unscientific."

"Spock," Ridley was staring at him as if he had suddenly grown a pair of horns. "Do you want to graduate at all?"

Spock looked at him, uncomprehending.

"Yes, sir. Is that not the purpose of my studying here?"

"Spock, I don't know what the purpose of your studying here is, except to drive me insane, but I guarantee you that you won't be permitted to take the final tests if you don't settle your business with Professor Nikem."

"Sir, Professor Nikem wants me to submit that his postulates are correct," Spock told him, sounding mildly incredulous. "Obviously, I cannot do that. This would be a crime against scientific truth, sir. I can prove—"

"I don't care," Ridley snapped. "Spock, I don't care if he tells you to sign a paper which states that the Earth is flat. If you want to be an officer, you've got to know that sometimes it's your duty to shut up and do what your superior officer tells you to do."

"Even if they are incorrect?"

"Even if they are incorrect. Cadet, it is not your place to question your superior officer's judgment. You have a sworn duty to obey their orders. You're a smart person, Mr. Spock. Which part of this do you not understand?"

"I understand, sir," Spock replied quietly. "I shall endeavor to do better."

"I should hope so," Ridley glared at him for another moment. "Actually, I have come to tell you that I have an assignment for you."

"Sir?"

"The big fleet maneuvers on Federation Day. You are assigned to the Science division on the USS _Enterprise_. You must report on board tomorrow at oh-eight hundred. You will receive further instructions there."

If Ridley didn't know better, he'd say Spock looked alarmed.

"No objections," he snapped before Spock could say anything. "I don't care which experiments you're running or whether you see any sense in serving aboard a starship or not. You have a problem, Cadet. You're appearing on report way too often. At this point, your chances of becoming a Starfleet officer are slim at best. I had to ask a lot of favors to get you this assignment, so I suggest you take it seriously. This might be your last chance to prove your worth to Starfleet. Am I making myself clear?"

"Very clear, sir," Spock said in a defeated voice.

"Good," Ridley nodded, eyeing him suspiciously. "Brushing up on your starship operations might be a good idea. And God forbid you should argue with any of your orders there. Dismissed."

Spock bowed his head in compliance, and the look he threw at Tora before turning to go was one of utter dismay. Ridley sighed, watching him leave, and shook his head in exasperation.

"Why do I get the feeling that he's having a second childhood now?"

Tora knew he wasn't addressing her as much as he was complaining about the weather. She answered anyway.

"From what I heard, sir, he didn't have much of a first one."

He looked at her in helpless confusion.

"Ms. Jonnson, I swear, I look at him and I don't know if he's the next Zefram Cochrane or a village idiot. Maybe both."

She glanced at him warily.

"Begging your pardon, Lieutenant. Is he in trouble?"

Ridley laughed sardonically.

"Let me put it this way. His commanding officer says one word against his performance—and he's out. I'm not kidding and I'm not trying to frighten you. I know he listens to you, so maybe you can make him see that his attitude is not the kind Starfleet wants. He's argumentative, he questions every order, he makes decisions without telling anyone... He might be a science genius, I wouldn't know. But he's not officer material."

Clearly disturbed, Tora stared down at her feet, trying to figure out anything to say. For a long moment, they stood there in silence.

"You know what," Ridley said suddenly. "I'll talk to your supervisor. Lieutenant Kelly, is it? I'll see if we can send you to the _Enterprise_ as well."

Her head snapped up hopefully at that, and he smiled at her tiredly.

"Someone's got to help him, Ms. Jonnson. I don't think I can. You're up for the task?"

"With pleasure, sir."

"Good," he clapped her on the shoulder, then dropped his hand hurriedly. "I'm curious though. He obviously considers you a friend."

"I wouldn't go that far, sir," she shook her head with a mild smile. "He tolerates me for some reason, that's all."

"Yes, but that's a great deal more than anyone else has achieved with him as far as I've noticed. And you're not even a fellow scientist. How did that happen?"

She smirked and shook her head.

"It's a long story, sir. When I graduate and it wouldn't be against regulations for you to buy me a beer, I'd be pleased to tell you."

He snorted.

"I don't think I'll survive that long. But I'll keep that beer cold, just in case."

She grinned at him amiably and started back for her quarters.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

For some reason, Chris Pike had never felt particularly at ease in Starfleet Headquarters. It was strange as he was, in fact, one highly popular officer with the brass—just as he had been considered an excellent student by his professors at Starfleet Academy all those years ago. He never felt comfortable with that. He couldn't very well explain it to himself. There was something distinctly wrong with being held in such high regard, even if it was deserved. He was the man of right decisions and correct actions; both seemed to come to him naturally. It almost felt as if excellence of performance was somehow sewn into his genetic code. It never seemed right to him to be praised for the fact that he was made for what he was doing.

That feeling of uneasiness was one of the reasons he was so averse to accepting Command students from the Academy. He knew he was considered a paragon, but despite the fact that the reputation had been well earned, he didn't feel comfortable with it. The same thing happened when someone complimented his looks. His appearance was indeed nothing short of striking, but it was another gift of nature and he had just as hard a time being proud of it, despite the ever-present admirers of both genders and many species. It was almost as if someone somewhere had been asked to draw a picture of an ideal Starfleet officer in all respects—and that someone had come up with his portrait, all hereditary traits included.

Chris Pike didn't like to be called an ideal.

He was a third generation Starfleet officer, and even before that, his ancestors had always been in some kind of service. He had never considered another path in life and was happy, following the invite of his nature and committing to duty that was his destiny. Somehow being praised for the fact that this combination had been playing successfully in his favor had never settled well with him. On his ship, far away from Command and his peers, he had rarely thought about that, always having more pressing concerns and considerations. But on Earth, this attitude followed him like a shadow he couldn't shake. The last thing he wanted now was being stuck with a group of excited kids hanging on his every word.

"CHRRRRRRREEEEESSS!"

A roar echoed loudly under the high ceiling of the Cochrane Hall. Pike winced, as did every single person in the reception area, but then an involuntary smile broke on his lips. He would know this voice anywhere. Glancing around, he located the source quickly, but before he could say anything, he was literally swept off his feet, being pulled into a crushing bear hug. It was a strange and uncommon sensation for a man of the quite respectable height of six feet two inches with a physique to match. Yet it wasn't completely unfamiliar.

"Dammit, let go, you overgrown grizzly bear," he demanded, feeling his ribcage squeak in protest.

The giant creature holding him laughed heartily and broke the embrace. He turned out to be a much taller and much bulkier human with a shrub of bushy raven black hair, an expressive hawk nose, twinkling light-brown eyes and a pair of arms that were known to bend iron. Pike shook his head at him, unable to maintain an indignant demeanor.

"Damn, it's good to see you, Belza," he said warmly, clasping the giant's arm.

Belza grinned back at him, bringing a sensation of extra illumination to the already well-lit hall.

"Sneaking away without even saying hi to an old friend?" he admonished Pike in a surprisingly soft voice. "I can see how that promotion has gone to your head, _Captain_."

Pike blushed, his grin turning rueful. "No, really, I didn't know you were on Earth, and—"

"Sure, sure," Belza interrupted him dismissively. "Where were you headed just now? More meetings?"

"Actually, I was going back to my ship," Pike shrugged. "But I suppose it can wait."

"Good," Belza beamed. "'Cause I was going to the Captains' Club for lunch and if I recall correctly, you owe me a drink."

"I should have seen this coming, shouldn't I?" Pike asked rhetorically. "Lead the way."

The last several days that he had spent on Earth were more tense than he had expected. He tried not to show it, but he was deeply upset by his mother's gradually deteriorating condition. Talking to squirrels wasn't the only odd thing about her; it had been difficult for him to watch her like this. He felt relieved and guilty at the same time when he had to leave and report to his new ship.

The _Enterprise_ was everything he had expected and more. He was proud of her, he was proud of himself for having earned this command. But instead of staying on board, getting his first personal feel of her, he was forced to spend most of his time at Headquarters. He had been debriefed on his old missions and briefed on the new ones. Security reports, Intelligence reports, technical upgrades. Not to mention an entire day he had spent trying not to drown in paperwork which followed his relinquishing command of his old ship, the _Ares_. He had begun to think that this visit home felt more like some extremely tedious assignment, rather than a happy reunion. It was good to see Belza, it was good to finally be able to relax a little.

The Captains' Club was situated at a convenient distance from HQ, not too close, but not far enough to make some sort of transportation necessary. The establishment was one of a kind in San Francisco. It did not admit civilians of any kind and was meant for Starfleet officers only. What was more, one had to be a member or a guest of a member to get admittance. Membership was automatically granted to any officer of whatever rank who was placed in command of a vessel.

Pike enjoyed visiting the Club for its quiet atmosphere. He liked the interior, the dark wooden panels, the ever-low but not too low lights, the exquisite mixture of coolness and warmth, and of course the correct and seemingly invisible service. Belza, on the other hand, haunted the Club for the excellent cuisine, which was almost painfully delicious after months of ship's rations.

They were greeted by an old porter who bowed politely and called both of them by name and rank. Pike marveled as usual at the owners' determination to know every cardholder on sight and to follow their careers precisely. It surprised and awed him a little when he had first come here ten years ago, and it never failed to make an impression on him since.

When the news cycles were slow on Earth, or some politician needed to score points by criticizing Starfleet, the Captains' Club was often pointed at as an elitist, non-democratic establishment. Starfleet, however, had never been embarrassed by the Club's existence. It had been part of the prestige that came along with the captain's chair, a reward and an acknowledgement of sorts for those who accepted this enormous responsibility.

"So," Belza drawled lamely, sinking with obvious pleasure into the sofa, once they were seated and placed their order. "You heard about Morry?"

Pike's eyes narrowed slightly and he nodded. The three of them, Jack Morrison, Belza and himself had become fast friends at Starfleet Academy where they had been virtually inseparable. There had been a fourth member of this triad, but Pike preferred not to dwell upon it.

"Promoted to captain within Starfleet Intelligence. I half-expected him to walk into my briefing this morning."

"He's not on Earth," Belza shook his head. "And we're unlikely to get wind of where he's off to from now on." He lowered his voice conspiratorially and added, making a good imitation of the absent Brit, "It's classified, Christopher."

Pike snorted. "Morry doesn't change. Always expecting the end of the world by tomorrow."

"The longest face I have ever seen in my life. At least, SI won't make haze of his paranoia." Belza nodded to the waiter who had arrived with their drinks and eyed his Guinness appreciatively before raising the glass. "To luck and love."

Pike smiled, remembering Belza's traditional toast. It had been a long time since he heard it.

"May they never end."

"Hear, hear."

They spent a perfectly pleasant hour talking about old times and news over some truly exceptional dishes. Pike had a good appetite and a healthy metabolism, but he was never one to overindulge. Belza was a known gourmand, and the sheer number of his selections made Pike wince. It was a good indicator of how relaxed both of them had become when either man failed to notice a foreign presence at their table. Pike reacted first and instantly snapped up to his feet.

"Admiral."

The somewhat gaunt, short, grey-haired man smiled at him, and Pike got a distinct impression of being chilled.

"Oh, sit down, Captain, I didn't mean to interrupt. I heard your voice and thought I'd stop to say hello."

"Very kind, sir," Pike muttered, wishing the Admiral didn't have such acute hearing.

"I don't believe I have met your friend," the Admiral said pointedly.

"I apologize," Pike said hastily. "Lieutenant Commander Igor Belza—Rear Admiral Takeshi Suguri."

"Commander," the Admiral nodded curtly to Belza, who was on his feet by then too, but didn't offer him a hand. "Gentlemen, this is my aide, Lieutenant Cohen."

The three of them had exchanged polite, but rather tense nods. Seeing not much of a choice, Pike said as pleasantly as he could, trying to sound natural, "Would you care to join us?"

"Thank you, Captain. We will for a few minutes, I have an appointment here," Suguri explained, as they sat down. His eyes fastened on Belza. "You command the _Lampedusa_, correct? Rigel border patrol?"

"Yes, sir," Belza answered evenly, and Pike thought that the Admiral had known exactly who Belza was long before he approached their table.

"Hm," the Admiral sniffed in his usual brisk manner, giving the appearance that he could have said something uncomplimentary on the subject, but would refrain for the sake of the occasion and company. Pike cringed inwardly. He didn't like the Admiral, even though he had only met him a few times. "So tell me, Captain." Suguri's eyes shifted to Pike abruptly. "Who's watching the _Enterprise_ while you enjoy your lunch?"

His tone was light, almost playful, and he was smiling, but Pike wasn't fooled. This was clearly a preamble to some sort of ambush. He tried to appear unconcerned, but not negligent.

"My second officer, Number One."

"Where's your first?"

"On leave, sir. He hasn't reported in yet."

"I see. And this Number One—an Illyrian, I take it?—how well do you know him?"

"Her," Pike replied calmly. "I only just met her last week, but she's making an impression of an outstanding officer. She has an excellent record."

The Admiral's aide suddenly snorted and lowered his head instantly, as if realizing he appeared disrespectful. Pike frowned, deciding he didn't like the man. There was something disturbing in his quick, almost nervous motions and in the hooded expression in his black eyes. He looked a typical admiral's adjutant, arrogant and self-important, but ready to start wheedling at his master's first demand. Pike ignored him, focusing on the Admiral instead. Suguri was smiling, somewhat indulgingly.

"Records were known to be forged, Captain."

"I see no reason to distrust my officers," Pike snapped, a bit more harshly than intended. He was never good at sweet-talking.

"Yes, this so-called trust is the call of the day, I'm afraid," Suguri tatted. "Even on the eve of the big maneuvers, nobody's giving any thought to security. Has it occurred to you, Captain, that the President, half the government and most of the diplomatic corps will be attending?"

"A tempting target," Belza said.

Suguri looked at him sharply. "Precisely. I've been inspecting the security arrangements this morning, and I'm telling you, Captain," he looked at Pike again, "should someone wish to behead the Federation political establishment, they might find a million ways to do it."

"Do you have reasons to believe such an attempt will be made?" Pike asked him patiently. Suguri had been rambling unceasingly about security breaches for as long as Pike had known him. None of his suspicions had ever been known to have any ground for them.

"Our very carelessness is reason enough," Suguri snapped. "You're sitting here, enjoying dessert, while leaving your ship in the hands of a person you don't even know. And you're not the only one."

"What do you suggest, Admiral?" Pike asked, openly bored. "That we start to distrust our fellow officers for no reason? The people that have sworn the same oath we have? Starfleet won't be able to function like that."

"Oh no, Captain, nothing of the sort. Trusting each other's perfectly fine, as long as we have proper security procedures in place."

"Interesting," Belza remarked curiously. "Such as?"

"Admiral Suguri has devised a whole new set of security regulations," Lieutenant Cohen spoke suddenly. "They will revolutionize Starfleet's approach to security!"

Pike asked himself vaguely if the Admiral was letting the man tag along wherever he went simply so that he could say that at an appropriate time. Belza's eyes twinkled with wry humor, and he hastily dropped his gaze to his glass. Suguri, however, appeared perfectly at ease with the comment.

"Yes," he said. "And I'm showing them tonight to the C in C. You might find a few surprises tomorrow morning, gentlemen."

"An Orion slave girl at my doorstep?" Belza suggested eagerly.

"Not unless you're hiding one in your hold," Suguri snapped, while Cohen harrumphed indignantly. "In which case you'll be facing an arrest detail." He turned to look at Pike pointedly. "This is exactly the kind of attitude that brought us into trouble in the first place."

"I wasn't aware we were in trouble, Admiral," Pike countered blandly.

"No, of course you weren't," Suguri smiled sweetly at him. "It would have interfered with digestion. Well, good afternoon to you, gentlemen."

The four of them were on their feet again. Belza and Pike had barely managed to send a respectful 'Admiral' after the departing Suguri.

"You had to tease him," Pike threw at Belza with mild reproach.

"Oh, come off it, Chris," Belza snorted impatiently. "Suguri's paranoia is nothing new. His conspiracy theories are so long-winded, it'd take days to make heads or tails of them. He's got absolutely no basis for any of them, he's a standing joke. Even Morry says he's nuts, and you know Morry's not exactly a trusting type, either. Beats me why the C in C is even seeing him."

"Nobody's luck is indefinite," Pike shrugged. "Are you ready to go?"

"Yeah. Got an Orion slave girl to dispose of, don't I?"

Pike chuckled, shaking his head. "Just one? You're getting old, Belza."

"You're just envious, you don't have any."

"I have better," Pike said, thinking of one genetically perfect woman on the Bridge of his ship. He smiled, wondering if she'd qualify. Then, remembering he was thinking about a fellow officer, he sobered. But despite his better efforts to be respectful within his mind, this train of thought proved to be increasingly persistent, following him all the way down to the transporters.

--

Spock was walking across Academy grounds deep in thought, without paying attention to where he was headed. He wasn't much prone to emotional assessment of his surroundings, but never before did the familiar sunlit terrain seem so gloomy. His thoughts dwelled upon the conversation with Lieutenant Ridley, and they were far from being remotely optimistic.

He was close to experience once again the emotion that was overly familiar to him. Failure. This time an ultimate one. Why was it so difficult for him to fit anywhere? Surely, his heritage alone couldn't have been responsible for that. Humans, most humans that he had come to know in the last three years, were ready to accept a great number of differences from someone, anyone in fact, who showed willingness to walk his side of the aisle. Spock was willing, very much indeed. It was showing it that he couldn't master.

He tried. He tried very hard to become an ideal Starfleet cadet. He had no difficulty whatsoever with any course of scientific studies, having exceeded in them and having found them extremely stimulating. He had managed to defend three doctorates in different fields of study while here on Earth, and he had found that human academic demands were no less strict than Vulcan. He enjoyed the experience; the challenge had been most invigorating.

But even with his scientific endeavors, he had far greater problems than his disagreement on principles with Professor Nikem. At Vulcan Science Academy, Spock was to be attached to one mentor who would have been guiding all his studies. The said mentor would have decided, together with Spock, which fields of study he was most suited to pursue. Vulcans were pragmatic and efficient people. There was no point in spraying the talent, when instead it could be concentrated on one direction, allowing for a more ensured breakthrough. The most Spock would have been allowed to undertake, would have been two branches of one science, closely related to one another. It was efficient and logical.

Spock accepted the logic of it, but without a mentor to watch over him, the temptations had been too great for him not to be swayed. He was fascinated by the choices that were his and only his to make. Like a child who had never had a taste of sweets, he had found himself lost in a candy shop of science. He wanted everything. He tried to keep himself in check, but it was difficult, and he knew he was slipping. Further and further from the Vulcan way.

He had taken twice as many courses than any other Starfleet Science Academy student, and he had dug deeper into them than some of his professors had. But that did not change the fact that he was dispersing himself, trying to encompass something that was totally impossible to encompass. The degrees he had won were in computer science, astrophysics and warp theory, and he had consoled himself somewhat with the knowledge that at least those three disciplines were in high demand aboard Starfleet vessels. The consolation tasted sour, for Spock was fully aware that had he concentrated on just one of those, he would have made much more progress in any. He was acting irresponsibly in regard of his studies, letting his curiosity sway him. His father would most certainly disapprove.

However, since his human science professors had no such reservations and were unaware of his misgivings, they were—with a notable exception of Professor Nikem—delighted to have him as a student. Sadly, the same could not be said of the rest of his instructors.

The Martial Arts training had proved to be a constant pain. The techniques themselves were simplistic at best for someone who had the benefit of a Vulcan upbringing. Even the increasing amount of physical contact was unpleasant but manageable. But in the first ever training session, Spock had received one of the greatest shocks in his life when, having responded instinctively to a sudden attack, he had broken his sparring partner's arm.

It wasn't something he could help. He had understood well the difference between a combat situation and a training session. He was in full control, and he didn't feel his life threatened. But it was also true that he had been trained for nearly twelve years by a Vulcan master who did not forgive mistakes and wasn't in the habit of giving second chances. The best Spock had ever achieved with him were several bruises. It wasn't that he didn't know that humans were more fragile, either. But his body reacted faster than he could possibly check it, its responses literally ironed into it beneath his conscious ability to control. Vulcans valued the well-being of their children very highly and did not leave anything to chance.

It was also true that Spock had been very poorly matched that first time. His instructor apparently had no idea he had any reason to treat the only alien in class any differently and paired him up with the next young man in line. As it occurred, the young man in question had committed the most violent act of his life at the age of seven by kicking a stray dog that had been after him and had barely made it through Starfleet screening for physical fitness. Too scared that he would fail and be dismissed, the boy launched a blind and desperate attack before the command to start the exercise was even given. Spock's reflexes kicked in before his surprise even registered, much less wore off. The next thing he knew, the boy was on the carpet at his feet, moaning in pain.

Ever since, it had been a ruthless battle against his nature. Even though his partners were now only the strongest and the most skilled cadets, he had been virtually suffering through each training session, too scared he would do more harm, too busy holding himself in check to enjoy the physical exercise as he used to.

The worst nightmare, however, came when he was paired up with a female cadet. His instructor had had just about enough with him, and that seemed to be like the last line. Problems such as this were known to arise from time to time with some human males as well, but Robertson had never faced such stubborn, unyielding determination in all the long years of his career.

'Listen, Spock, space is the big unknown. You never know who you're going to meet there. Suppose you run across some vicious amazons. Or the Klingons—their females are every bit as dangerous as their males. I can't have you endanger your ship because of some idiotic sense of chivalry. I can't give you a pass, unless you prove to me you can fight female opponents. These ladies are trained, same as you are. They aren't made of glass. Here," he pushed one of the girls in front of the Vulcan. "Cadet Rosenmond at your service. I want to see you put her on the mat. Just once, Spock, that's all I'm asking. Otherwise I'll have to conclude you failed the course, and you know where that will lead.'

Far from being frightened, the girl smiled encouragingly at him. Spock looked at her, listening to the dull staccato of pulse tugging at his temples. He knew Robertson was right. The human had been logical, while he, Spock, reacted irrationally. But he couldn't help it. Same deep hue of green in her eyes, same gleaming red hair—she reminded him too much of Flora. He couldn't keep the vision of the bruises on her pale wrists out of his mind; the bruises that his hands had left, when he had either been fighting her off or fighting her fighting him off, he still wasn't sure.

But even without this traumatizing experience, the idea of striking a woman was as close to sacrilege as any Vulcan could get. It so happened that since the very ancient times more males were born on Vulcan than females. The women were cherished. Protected. Worshiped. Obeyed. In ancient times—fought for. Spock looked at the girl with the terrifying realization that he would be packing his bags that night. He couldn't do it.

He vaguely heard Robertson dismissing him and turned automatically to comply, when someone seized his hand.

'Please, Mr. Robertson, sir, give him one more chance,' Tora said earnestly, looking pleadingly at the instructor. 'I know he can do it.'

Robertson looked at her piercingly, then nodded silently and retreated slightly aside, giving them some room and some privacy. Spock found himself staring into her eyes. It wasn't that she was familiar to him or an easy match for his complexion, so much as the soft, reassuring expression in her eyes that stopped him in his tracks. His normally warmer than human fingers were ice cold in her hand as she squeezed them to get his attention.

'I can get you through this,' she whispered. 'Promise. Just trust me.'

If ever there was a moment for a leap of faith, that was it. He nodded, barely aware of it himself, and the next second she attacked. He blocked her hand, caught another, twisted it around. She kicked him, aiming to make him lose his balance, and Spock allowed it, trapping her foot in the process. And then he put her down on the mat as carefully and as slowly, as if she was prone to breaking.

The cadets who gathered around to watch snorted at this emphasized gentleness and started to make all sorts of sly comments as to what he intended to do next. Spock hardly heard. His heart was pounding too loud, his body was shaking with tension.

'Playing gentleman, are we?' Tora grinned at him. 'That won't get you anywhere, Mister.'

Without warning, she twisted her hips, gathering momentum, using her legs for leverage, and flipped them over, catching Spock off guard. She pinned him to the mat effectively, and while they both knew that he could knock her off at any time using crude force alone, it didn't matter. The exercise was completed. Never minding the chorus of appreciative whistles and remarks, she leaned closer to him and winked.

'Wasn't too bad, was it?'

And before he could check himself, he smiled back at her, a shy, rueful smile of relief and gratitude. Robertson looked at them rather sourly, but gave Spock a passing grade as promised. For the moment.

Apparently, they had both realized the temporal nature of this occurrence, but while Spock dreaded the next time silently, Tora took the matters into her own hands. She picked three girls from her squad and asked Spock to come to the gym with them. Apprehensively, he complied. There, without much ado, she told him they wanted him to teach them some basic Vulcan moves.

At first, Spock thought he misheard. On Vulcan, basic school education was conducted separately for boys and girls until the age of fourteen. By then, basic martial arts would have been long mastered by both genders, precluding any necessity of contact. Tora's request elicited a number of emotions in Spock, not the last of them being deep embarrassment and some unidentifiable fear. The idea was quite unthinkable.

Tora, however, would have none of it. She appealed to him, advocating the superiority of Vulcan techniques. Surely Spock would wish to make his charming colleagues feel safer? The girls, obviously trained as he realized later, seconded her request most enthusiastically, and Spock found himself drastically outmatched. Slightly dazed, he heard himself agreeing to explain some very basic moves.

As it turned out, Tora had found a way to help him deal with his complex in a far more effective manner than Robertson. Sharing knowledge came as naturally to Spock as obtaining it. Being put into the instructor's position, he felt much more confident. It wasn't long before he was correcting their postures using the most efficient means of communication in this case, namely touch. His embarrassment and awkwardness left him, without him noticing. And then, being focused completely on the correct performance, he began to show them simple one-on-one exercises. By the time the improvised session ended, all four of his very charming and very female students had been put on the mat numerous times by him. And although he had still been way more gentle than one wanted their sparring partner to be, the practice left him less insecure.

Tora had relentlessly called for repeated sessions, and Spock allowed himself to be swayed—reluctantly at first, then with calm acceptance, and finally with a sense of anticipation. She varied the participants sometimes, and he was greatly surprised when she brought the boy whose arm Spock had broken almost a year ago at his first ever training session. The cadet in question was also majoring in computer science, and Spock knew him from shared classes, but ever since the accident they had never spoken.

His name was Simon Anders, and he was obviously less than happy to be there. Spock looked at Tora uncertainly, wondering if that was a good idea. She smiled at him conspiratorially and winked, and suddenly Spock knew what he had to do. Disregarding his instinctive responses and almost bending the laws of physics in the process, he allowed Anders to throw him, despite numerous technical flaws the other cadet had made. Lying on the mat, Spock looked up and watched a sincere wide grin spreading on the young man's lips and felt strangely and quite illogically warmed up by the experience.

Spock's performance in Robertson's class was better now, too. He stopped panicking when being paired up with a weaker match and only slightly hesitated when sparring with female cadets. He still struggled with particular demands the instructor was making of him, but at least he was no longer under the threat of being expelled as physically unfit. He had also found that the usual classes looked more agreeable somehow, when some of his 'students' were there. He felt strangely pleased when they smiled at him and didn't mind participating in their conversations from time to time. He and Anders even ended up working on the same project once, and for the first time Spock felt comfortable working with a partner, which had never happened before in his life.

Martial Arts, however, wasn't the only course where he experienced difficulties. Command training was equally if not more frustrating. This wasn't something Spock could refuse. The results of his psychological evaluation qualified him for Command automatically, and he was obliged to complete the basic two-year course. He tried to argue the point, but the counselor conducting the evaluation wasn't interested in his opinion. His tests showed that he was fast in making decisions, and the percentage of correct ones was reasonably high. Instead of him simply becoming a science specialist, the course would make him an officer of the line, should he complete it successfully.

Starfleet policy in this regard was clear—anyone who was remotely capable must be made eligible. It was true that Starfleet provided its personnel with the opportunity to develop in whatever direction people preferred best, but it was also true that, once signed up, they became subject to the requirements of the service. One could never predict what kind of situations could arise in the vast regions of space out of communications range and how they might affect the standing chain of command. It seemed reasonable to have as many qualified officers at hand as possible.

Spock was neither good nor abysmal. Having no problems with the theoretical part, he struggled somewhat with practical assignments. It was easier when he was a member of a training crew. He proved to be a good team player, performing the tasks he was responsible for, covering for others if necessary, anticipating the changes in the situation, being instrumental to the team leader and impeccably subordinate. Problems began when he was put in command himself.

Spock was having constant difficulty delegating tasks for which he knew he was better suited. He saw every assignment as a logical objective which must be logically achieved. He completely failed to grasp the fact that his crew was often motivated by the idea of 'busting up' the other team. He was ill-suited for providing encouragement or reassurance and keeping the team's spirit. He had feelings, too, but he mastered them, and he could not understand why he should help the others deal with theirs instead of concentrating on the job. Surely this was the area of personal responsibility of each individual? He, for one, never welcomed intrusions.

His instructors shook their heads a lot in his regard. While it was true that Spock's team generally managed to fulfill whatever assignment they were given, at least half the time it was the most unhappy team in the field. However, important as the issues of crew's moral might have been, it was the result that counted, and Spock generally passed his tests with some pretty average but acceptable scores. Which obviously did not make him, a devoted perfectionist, appreciate the course any better.

And still, he could not say he regretted the necessity of completing it. The course provided him with an excellent opportunity to study the reactions of humans closely, and he couldn't deny being intrigued. There were several Command students in his year showing remarkable leadership skills, and he came to respect them, a few—even to admire. The fact that they usually picked him for their teams relatively fast made Spock suspect that the feeling was to a point mutual. He admitted to a certain sense of satisfaction on these occasions, although he realized that they didn't mean it personally. Well, with one notable exception, of course, but even Luca admitted that he had valued Spock's professional qualities first and everything else later. Or maybe he thought Spock wouldn't accept anything else had it been offered first, and Spock had to admit reluctantly that, gratifying as their time together turned out to be, it was quite probably true.

But personal issues aside, even though Spock felt that the course was lost on him completely, it still had at least one redeeming quality. If anything, the experience had slightly alleviated his concern regarding serving under a human captain.

The thought had brought him inevitably to his assignment, and Spock frowned, as he walked past the security screen separating Academy grounds from the city. The scanner obviously told the guard on duty that Spock had permission to leave campus, and he let the cadet pass without incident.

Lieutenant Ridley was correct. Spock saw no logic in being assigned to a starship. Spock's tentative goal after graduation was a long-ranged science vessel. That was another reason why he had chosen Starfleet over the Vulcan Science Academy. He didn't know if that was the human in him, or some rudimentary Vulcan trait, but he, too, wanted to go where no one had gone before. The prospect of exploring the regions of space where no one from the Federation had ever been made his heart swell in excitement, which he had to control. This zeal for adventure was way too illogical for him to acknowledge it consciously, but it was difficult to deny its influence.

Starfleet was currently sending out long-ranged expeditions, which would take years, possibly decades to be concluded. If Spock signed up for one of those, he would be out of his family's reach, and the prospect was almost unbearably alluring. Almost as much as the great unknown lying ahead...

No kind of starship fit into that picture. Spock frowned deeper, remembering Ridley's words. It seemed like all his plans, hopes and dreams were now depending on his ability to impress one human. Given the unpredictable nature of humanity, Spock felt deeply concerned about his future.

"But you don't understand! One word from this man could ruin my whole career!"

The exclamation hit so close to home that Spock flinched involuntarily, looking around to locate the source. He saw a young human male, apparently in his twenties, walking just a few steps ahead of Spock and talking animatedly to a dark-haired girl. They were walking, Spock realized surprised, towards the same teashop where he was headed himself.

"You exaggerate," the girl said in obvious exasperation. She turned towards her companion and Spock could see her profile. She was quite young and very attractive.

"The hell I am," the young man bristled impatiently. "He's picking my team for me, and they are all separatists. I'm telling you, you can't create a separated complex on Deneva, the planet's ecosystem would not withstand it. Irrigation should be an integrated part of the environment, otherwise it won't work. But will he listen? No."

Spock's eyebrow rose, as he walked after them into the old teashop. The couple stopped at the counter, and he came closer, waiting for them to place an order. He came to this shop frequently, sometimes enjoying a hot drink, but more often to refill his stock of herbal tea. Spock was used to Earth herbal tea by now. He found the tastes intriguing, and what was more important, it was certainly less expensive than Vulcan blends.

"You have to be more patient," the girl said, looking up at her indignant friend.

"I can't be _any more_ patient with him, Aurelan," the man sighed in exasperation. "What is the first thing any agriculture specialist learns? You can't mess up planet's biosphere unless it's absolutely unusable. I admit the conditions on Deneva are not ideal, but they certainly aren't bad enough to justify the creation of an artificial environment which would consist of strictly separated, completely autonomous layers."

"Such a system would be extremely difficult to control, and it could harm the natural biosphere in more ways than are logically predictable."

Only when the couple turned to look at him did Spock realize he had said that aloud. He blushed furiously, hardly believing he did that, wishing desperately he could vanish into thin air.

"I apologize," he muttered, not looking at them. "I didn't mean to... but the subject of your conversation was so intriguing that I… I ask forgiveness, I should not have..."

"Serves you right for shouting for the whole street to hear," the girl snorted.

Spock only belatedly realized she was addressing her friend rather than him. Still deeply embarrassed, he dared to look up and met the gaze of rather amused hazel eyes.

"No, no, it's all right," the human assured him, with a soft grin. "Even better that I happen to agree with you. Introducing hybrid soil samples could be harmful enough, let alone alien vegetation."

"Indeed," Spock said almost without conscious intent. "If I recall correctly, the basic elements found in the ground on Deneva are mostly iron and zinc. Hybrid soil includes phosphorus as its key component. Should enough of it make its way into the ground waters, the effect might be most unfortunate."

The man chuckled softly.

"Nothing wrong with your memory... Cadet?" He looked over Spock's uniform.

"Yes, sir. My name is Spock."

"Well, I'm not in the service, Mr. Spock, and I'm not two hundred years old, so I really think there's no need for you to call me sir." The human grinned and extended his hand. "I'm Sam Kirk, and this is my fiancée Aurelan."

"Sam," she whispered, looking over Spock's features. "You probably shouldn't..."

But Spock was already shaking his hand, showing no apparent discomfort at the contact.

"I apologize for the intrusion," Spock said.

Sam Kirk shook his head, watching Aurelan retrieve the beverages.

"It's really not a problem. Believe me, it's a relief to hear a voice of reason after the whole day of damn stupid debates. Would you care to join us? I could use a fresh eye on this, and you obviously know what you're talking about."

"I..." Spock hesitated. He had already been unforgivably rude to these people by intruding on their conversation, his scientific curiosity notwithstanding. He admitted that the subject intrigued him. But did he dare...? "I wouldn't want to impose." He looked uncertainly from one to the other.

Aurelan smiled at him. "Please, if you go I'll be the one to listen to this all over again, and I really could do without the repetition."

"See now, you can't offend the lady." Sam winked at him. "We'll be over there."

Spock watched as they retreated to a table in the far corner in front of the open window. He turned to the counter and placed an order, hardly knowing what it was. He felt trapped by his own slip and the kindness of the humans he had insulted. Suppressing a sigh, still deeply embarrassed, he picked up his cup and walked over to join them.

He was surprised how quickly he and the human had found common points of reference. They both tended to endorse the integral approach to ecology, and Spock knew enough of modern agricultural methods to keep up with Sam's theories, which appealed to him with their originality and ingenuity. Aurelan was mostly silent, sipping her tea and watching the two of them with an amused smile, dropping in a word from time to time.

"You're in your last year," Sam noted, indicating the stripes on Spock's sleeves. "What's your major? Exobiology or ecoscience?"

Spock hesitated slightly.

"Computer science." He thought a little and added, "And astrophysics. Also warp theory and temporal mechanics."

"Are you sure you haven't forgotten anything?" Sam stared at him, amused and amazed. "Four majors." He shook his head. "I'm almost afraid to ask how many minors."

Both he and Aurelan laughed, and Spock blushed again, completely puzzled.

"I..."

"But please, Mr. Spock, tell me exobiology is at least one of those minors," Sam pleaded, still chuckling. "Listen, seriously, what have you forgotten in Starfleet? Come work for me."

"I beg your pardon?"

"He's not serious," Aurelan assured the startled Vulcan.

"Of course I am," Sam protested. "I'd much rather have him on the team than that idiot Lazou. And Starfleet is a wasteland for scientists."

"Starfleet has an ultimate commitment," Spock said, very seriously. "It demands a lot, but its goals are most commendable—"

"Please, Mr. Spock," Sam interrupted him with a light wince. "It's not that I don't agree, but I get more than enough of this from my brother."

"Your brother is in the service?"

"Not yet. Actually, he's a cadet, same as you are. I don't believe you've met him, it's only his first year."

"Probably not," Spock said blandly. "I do not meet a lot of people."

"As a matter of fact, he was supposed to meet us here half an hour ago." Sam frowned in disapproval, checking the old clock on the wall.

Spock suddenly became aware that he had spent much more time in the teashop than he intended. He rose up to his feet, a bit abruptly.

"I must take my leave of you now," he stuttered, suddenly feeling nervous again.

"Well, a must is a must," Sam nodded his understanding. "It's been nice talking to you, Mr. Spock. Should you ever wish for a career change, give me a call."

Unsure of how he should respond, for it wasn't clear to him if the human was joking, Spock bowed his head politely.

"Peace and long life to you both."

Sam nodded, Aurelan smiled. Spock walked toward the counter to buy some tea to take with him. By human standards he was out of earshot and he shouldn't have overheard Sam's comment.

"Damn, I'd like Jimmy to meet this guy. He sure could use someone this serious around."

Spock knew he wasn't meant to hear, and since he had already walked into one conversation that didn't concern him today, he wasn't going to enter another one. He waited patiently for his order, without turning back. He heard Aurelan snort softly.

"Sam, Jimmy's already so serious—he could give this guy a run for his money. He needs someone who can make him have a little fun every now and then, not compete with him in grimness."

"You don't know my brother very well," Sam sighed.

"Oh really? I'm afraid, Sam, that neither do you."

Illogically pleased to escape the strangeness of the moment, Spock picked up his packet, paid for it and left the shop.

Or, tried to.

His way was blocked by someone who tried to enter the teashop at the same moment Spock attempted to make his exit. Another cadet, Spock noted faintly. One gold stripe on his sleeve—a first-year Command student. Idly, Spock wondered if it was Sam Kirk's brother. They certainly shared the same coloring, though this human was considerably shorter. Automatically, Spock stepped aside to let him pass, but as the other cadet did the same at the same time they were blocking each other's way again. Spock stepped to the other side, and the human again matched his move. After it happened for the third time, the other cadet stopped and looked up at Spock with a grin.

"Okay, while I have to admit that you dance better than my last girlfriend, I still say we have a problem."

"Indeed," Spock said, and the sound of his own voice made him realize that the humor of the situation wasn't lost on him. "If I may recommend a course of action, I suggest a logical approach."

The other cadet tilted his head slightly and regarded Spock curiously. "All right, let's hear it."

"You—step to the right." The human's eyes narrowed and Spock added quickly, "Your right."

The other cadet did as he was instructed, while Spock stepped to his own right, and they were finally able to pass, their shoulders brushing lightly as they did so. The human turned to glance back at Spock.

"Impeccably logical. I'll be sure to remember that."

Before Spock could come up with an answer, he heard Sam Kirk's exasperated voice saying, "Jimmy! At last."

The younger Kirk winced, and Spock did inwardly, too. He stepped out into the street bathing in the last rays of sunshine and put the whole incident resolutely out of his mind.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

The inimitable feel of his ship around him woke him up before the alarm did. Stretching on his bed, Pike sighed contentedly and grinned into the semidarkness of his cabin. It was a nice feeling. Then, remembering the conundrum of the day ahead, he winced, the grin vanishing as if washed out. As if the necessity to fit in all the newly assigned personnel wasn't bad enough, they had to make everything shipshape for the fleet maneuvers—and possible inspections, and take care of the damned cadets. This was going to be one hell of a headache.

He showered and dressed quickly. Truth be told, Chris Pike didn't like coffee very much and didn't seem to depend on it the way other people did. It almost felt as if this man had accumulated enough energy in some past lifetime to make him positively vibrate with it at any given time. He didn't look tired even when he was, and he never looked sleepy. He passed the Officers' Mess and headed directly for the Bridge.

It struck him, however, on his way up how few crewmembers had crossed his path. Usually, on a ship this size, the corridors were crammed with people, save perhaps for the last few hours of the graveyard shift. Certainly not at the beginning of Alpha. Pike frowned and walked into the turbolift.

The Bridge was also undermanned, though his second officer was on duty. She was discussing something with the navigator, as Pike entered. As she looked up and smiled politely at the Captain, Pike's breath caught. Cursing inwardly, he reminded himself to never let his guard drop around this woman. Cool and detached as she seemed to be, there was something about her that gave almost any man, and quite a few women, a pause and an inescapable break in the pulse rhythm. Compensating, he frowned automatically, and her smile vanished quickly, as if she felt it was inappropriate.

"Good morning, sir."

"Lieutenant Commander, is it my imagination or are we even more understaffed today than we were yesterday?" he asked, swallowing the greeting.

Number One stiffened visibly, and so did the navigator, whose back was still to Pike.

"That's true, sir," Number One replied blandly. "We only have the emergency crew on board and of course Chief Engineer Barry."

"Why?" he asked sharply. "It was my understanding that most of the shoreleaves were supposed to be up by oh-six-hundred today."

"Yes, sir, but HQ hosted a traditional mixer last night. All shoreleaves were extended till sixteen hundred today for every ship not currently on duty alert. Most of the crew took the liberty—"

"Who authorized this?"

"Sir," she talked quietly, seemingly impervious to his glare. "The orders came directly from Admiral Suguri. There wasn't anything I could have done, sir."

"Admiral Suguri?" Pike stared at her. Suguri, with his predilection towards obsessive concern for security was the last person Pike would expect to give such a liberal order. "Why wasn't I informed?" he asked briskly.

"Sir, you were on the surface when the order came. The Starfleet switchboard operator couldn't reach you."

"I came back to the ship—"

"At two in the morning, sir. By that time recalling our crewmembers would have done little good. I didn't want to disturb you with something that could not be helped."

Pike felt his face tense painfully. He managed to steel himself.

"I appreciate your concern, Number One, but please remember for future occurrences that I prefer to be kept in the know at all times, whether the situation could be changed or not. Is that understood?"

"Yes, sir. I apologize for overstepping my bounds."

"You didn't," he shook his head, his expression softening. Seeing her calm but stricken face and the looks the Bridge crew were giving him, he realized suddenly he had been acting with unnecessary severity. "Is there anything to report?"

"Most of our new equipment is on board, sir. Since we currently have only one engineering team present, I have scheduled the installment to begin at 1630."

"We'll probably have to keep people up all night to complete it in time," Pike said, pursing his lips. "Wonderful. What the hell had Suguri been thinking?"

"I wish I knew, sir," Number One said with a small sigh, which gave away her own frustration. "But that isn't our only problem. Lieutenant Barry is having difficulties installing the new plasma injectors. She needs time to recalibrate them. In the meantime she does not recommend using warp drive."

"No warp?" Pike wasn't taking the news lightly and it showed. "Lieutenant Barry has had a week! Are you telling me she still hasn't—"

"Sir, she has a team of five engineers full time instead of fifteen for each shift," Number One's voice was firm and reverberating. "She's doing the best she can. Plus, no one expected this problem to occur—the ship has just undergone a major refit. I filed a complaint against the spacedock team. For the moment, it's all we can do."

Pike took a moment to regain his equilibrium. He noticed suddenly the pale shadows under her eyes and her slightly grayish pallor. She obviously had been on duty for a much longer time than a double shift.

"Any word from our Executive Officer?"

"No, sir." Another inaudible sigh. "They are still having problems resurrecting his personnel file at Jupiter Station. He can't leave."

He shook his head in exasperation, then looked at her with a small ironic smile.

"Anything else?"

Her lips twitched.

"Yes, sir. Twenty Starfleet cadets left San Francisco spaceport approximately seven minutes ago. Their ETA is thirty-two minutes."

"Fantastic," Pike grimaced. He had nearly forgotten about the cadets.

"I'll take care of them, sir," Number One said. "If I have your permission to leave the Bridge."

"Of course," he nodded gratefully. "Your shift must have been over hours ago."

She gave him a thin grin. "Which one?"

Pike sighed. "I know what you mean. I appreciate you stepping up like this."

"It's no problem, sir."

"What's this?" Pike pointed at the chart the navigator had been studying.

"Starfleet sent us the road map for the big maneuvers," Number One said, clasping her hands behind her back. "We have been going over it just now. The course seems rather simplistic, but—"

"We need warp drive."

"Yes, sir."

Pike shook his head. "This is a promising start of the mission," he grunted.

"Perhaps if we collect all the bumps now, Captain, we'll have a smooth ride later," Number One offered blandly.

It was obviously meant to cheer him up, and Pike couldn't help smiling.

"I didn't know you were an optimist, Commander."

"One always has to look for a way to motivate oneself, sir," she said seriously, but her eyes were twinkling. "If I may be excused, Captain?"

"Do me a favor, get me an update from Engineering before you open the child care ward."

"Of course, sir," she did smile then, rather coolly.

Pike watched her leave the Bridge with mixed feelings. Number One had been aboard for a week, and normally this time would be sufficient for him to establish a communication frequency with anyone. He knew he was failing with her, the right tone, the balance, just slipping away from him when he interacted with her. It wasn't right, and he'd have to deal with it. Even with the inevitable buffer of a First Officer between them, she would still be one of his senior officers. He'd have to work out a way to be fair with her without compromising his defense mechanisms.

Pike sighed, realizing that this tour of duty might turn out to be the longest he had ever had.

--

"_Albatross_, you're clear for landing."

"Acknowledged, _Enterprise_. Beginning landing sequence now."

The cadets exchanged nervous glances as the shuttle's engines altered their hum, signifying the switch to landing thrusters.

"Here we go," Tora muttered under her breath as with a final jolt the shuttle stopped its motion.

"The shuttle bay doors are closed, shuttle bay pressurizing," the pilot announced, studying his board. Then, as if in afterthought, he turned towards the twenty rather tense looking young people. "Well, what are you guys waiting for?"

As if awakened from a spell, they jumped to their feet and rushed towards the exit. The pilot smirked and shook his head after them.

They formed a rather disorganized crowd, looking around and whispering. Field missions often included starship assignments, but rarely on one of the ships with the _Enterprise's_ reputation. Even the boldest of the cadets had been slightly intimidated by that name, and the group only included a few of them.

The shuttle bay doors swooshed open, and Cadet Andrew Waters, whose superiority had been established by having the highest scores in his class, shouted in a nervously loud voice, "Attention on deck!"

Quickly and efficiently, they came to stand in a two-line formation, facing the entrance. In subsequent silence, a woman strode in, bringing in the air of confidence and authority. She was tall and slim but not fragile; she carried herself very straight, her chin pointing slightly up, as if she was challenging the world every second. Most humanoid species would have called her striking. Her raven black hair fell elegantly to her shoulders, its length fitting the regulations exactly. Her eyes were blue, and had an unnervingly penetrating look. She wore command gold, and the stripes on her sleeves suggested she carried the rank of lieutenant commander.

"Welcome to the _Enterprise_," she said crisply. She didn't smile, as she looked the lines up and down, her strict expression inducing them with the impression of not meeting up the standards already. "My name is Number One, I'm the second officer and your supervisor for the duration of this mission. Each of you has received your assigned duty areas. However," she paused, her gaze sliding down the line appraisingly. "It so happens that at the moment we are very much understaffed. You might be required to step out of the limits of your respective assignments. This is your chance to try your hand at real starship duty. I expect you all to perform to the best of your abilities. If you have any problems, bring them up with the crewmember supervising your work. Now, does anyone have any questions?"

No one stepped forward. Number One nodded silently to herself.

"Very well, in that case report to your assigned duty stations. Dismissed."

Standing at the back of the second line, Spock and Tora exchanged a puzzled look.

"Well, this is promising enough," she muttered, as they started for the doors after the others. "I wonder what happened."

"I do not see any point in speculating without any facts," Spock replied just as quietly.

"You sure know how to raise spirits," Tora grunted. "My station is on the Bridge, where's yours?"

"Science Lab Four. I should report to—"

"Hey, you two, hold up a second!"

Both cadets stopped abruptly, turning to face a very irate looking woman. She was short, the top of her head just reaching Tora's shoulder. She had a smooth round face, with a splash of freckles on her cheeks, and expressive green eyes, which at the moment were narrowed dangerously as if she was taking aim. She closed on them in a blink of an eye and looked them over appraisingly.

"A Vulcan," she said as if to herself. "Good, this could come in handy. Report to Engineering, both of you."

"Sir?" Spock asked in confusion.

"You say that again and I'll knock your lights out faster than you can repeat it," the woman promised vehemently. "You do understand English, don't you? I'm Chief Engineer Barry, and I need your help. Now move."

"Lieutenant," Spock changed the form of address tentatively and seeing that it seemed to have been accepted, plunged on. "My orders are to assist the Science Officer. I must—"

"The Science Officer?" Her eyebrows rose in some malevolent delight. "How convenient. Oh, this is almost too good to be true. Now listen, Mister. Last time I checked, your superior officer's orders weren't open for debate. Unless you want to get a reprimand for insubordination you will quit wasting my time and get moving."

Spock didn't need a nudge from Tora to understand that he must offer no further objections. Thinking rather miserably that being late in reporting for duty would hardly reflect well on his performance, he followed the Chief Engineer out, Tora at his heels.

They had both been assigned to various vessels during their training, but neither of them had ever set foot on a Constitution-class before. Spock had studied the specs of course, and he could have found his way on his own, but the ship didn't fail to make an impression on him nonetheless. Though he couldn't help noticing that it didn't appear to be quite sparkling with order yet.

The turbolift was filled with rather tense silence, Spock and Tora standing almost at attention, while Barry tapped her foot impatiently. Finally, the doors opened, and she started forward, almost creating whirlwinds in her wake.

"This is Main Engineering," she announced, stepping close enough to the doors to trigger the opening sensor, but making no move to walk in.

As the doors swished open, Spock understood why. The room, at least the area directly behind the doors, was stuffed from floor to ceiling with various containers. They were all standard Starfleet issue, but varying in form and size. The pile was distinctly reminiscent of a modern version of Babel Tower. There was hardly a slit between the huge pile and the nearest wall.

"These should not be here," Spock commented before he even thought of checking the impulse. He was completely puzzled by the display.

"I'm glad you think so, Cadet," Barry practically sneered. "Our renowned Science Officer in his infinite wisdom has dumped this on our heads because there was no more room in the cargo bay."

"But why here?" Tora let out with a gasp.

"Because this is 'highly sensitive equipment and Engineering is a protected area,' why else?" Barry bristled out in disgust. "He promised to remove this mess as soon as we get our own stuff out of the cargo bay, which we did yesterday, but as you can see everything's still here. I want you two to move this to cargo bay three and I need you to do it fast." She looked them over in frank assessment, and while her eyes glinted approvingly at Tora, she frowned when her gaze came to rest on Spock. "I know that as a Vulcan you're supposed to possess great physical strength, but I must admit you look as if I could knock you over with a flip."

"With all due respect, Lieutenant, that is unlikely," Spock replied with grave dignity. "I am fully functional and the assignment will present no difficulty. However, the time required will be shortened considerably if we could use some antigravity platforms."

"And I'd give them to you if we could spare any," Barry nodded. "Unfortunately, all the functional ones are currently in use. There are two more in the cargo bay," she relented, seeing Spock's questioning gaze, "but they are defective, and I can't spare anyone on my staff to take a look at them, not even one of your friends, engineering cadets. There's too much work to be done and I need everyone remotely qualified on the job. You'll have to deal with your hands and backs."

"Yes, ma'am," Tora acknowledged, already surveying the mounting pile in search of a best way to start.

"Good luck," Barry said and disappeared around the corner.

"Well," Tora said and she grinned at Spock uncertainly. "Seems to be as good a way to begin our glorious careers as any. Where's the cargo bay?"

"Two decks down, port side," Spock answered absently, measuring up the pile.

He then flattened himself against the wall and squeezed inside the room, barely making it. Tora winced, realizing that she certainly wouldn't hope to be able to follow.

"How bad is it?" she asked, watching his impassive face with mild trepidation.

Spock turned to look at her.

"We may be here for quite a while," was all he said, and she realized they were in bigger trouble than she originally had thought.

--

"Transporter Room to Captain Pike."

Raising his eyebrows slightly at the unexpected call, Pike hit the comm panel.

"Pike here."

"Sir, we have an Admiral beaming over with his aide for inspection."

"What?"

"They are standing by for transport, Captain."

"Which admiral?" Pike asked briskly, his suspicions growing.

"Sorry, sir. Admiral Suguri."

"I'll be right there. Pike out." He pressed the panel a second time. "Number One, report to the Transporter Room on the double."

"This is Number One, sir. I'm on my way."

"Damn him!" Pike cursed, rushing out of his quarters, where he had been trying with partial success to get some of the ship's documentation in order for the better part of an hour. "Damn this man," he muttered again under his breath, waiting for a turbolift. "He knew exactly when to hit us."

Number One was waiting for him when he exited the lift cabin.

"Sir, I was hoping you could tell me what's going on," she said, falling into step beside him. "An admiral beaming over?"

"Yes. Apparently, we're about to submit for an unscheduled inspection."

"Captain," she sounded mildly alarmed. "We're in no shape to pass one."

"I'm very well aware of that, Commander," he snapped. "Something tells me that so is the Admiral."

Number One didn't say anything else, obviously drawing her own conclusions. They entered the Transporter Room to find only a very confused and startled technician there.

"Captain!" The man blushed vigorously. "I'm terribly sorry, sir, but the Admiral gave the order to beam him up."

"He's already on board?" Pike asked incredulously.

"Yes, sir," the tech confirmed miserably. He hardly knew where to look. "He said he didn't have time to wait for you to... to..."

"To do what, crewman?"

"To, uh," the man seemed to swallow a huge gulp of air before firing in one shot, "To find your pants, sir."

Number One pursed her lips as if trying to suppress a grin, but when Pike turned his glaring gaze on her, her face was perfectly calm and composed.

"I assume he headed for the Bridge?" Pike asked grudgingly.

"I wouldn't know, sir."

Pike gathered his second officer with a glance and started out of the room. He considered briefly keeping his thoughts to himself, but this wouldn't be fair—they were all in this together. Besides, he needed allies and he needed them urgently.

"Bridge," he barked as they reentered the turbolift. He turned to look at Number One. "As you are acting first officer I might as well tell you. I believe we're being set up."

"By the Admiral, sir?" She glanced at him with respectful attention. "I have suspected as much."

"Well, good instincts," Pike grunted with grim humor. "_My_ instincts are telling me that an unscheduled inspection isn't all he's after. We might expect more trouble to come."

His prediction turned out to be not only accurate, but immediate, though it wasn't clear instantly whether the Admiral had anything to do with the turbolift floor suddenly vanishing from under their feet as the cabin began to fall down. They both gasped sharply, having bumped unexpectedly into the ceiling, the wind knocked out of them. Before either of them could even attempt to overcome the building pressure of centrifugal force, the cabin stopped as abruptly as it had lurched down, throwing them both to the floor hard. The lights went out with a flicker, and then all motion ceased. Outside and inside the cabin.

--

Panting, Tora deposited a container on top of another one. Something inside gave an offended clink, obviously preferring a more gentle hand.

"I believe this equipment is sensitive," Spock commented from where he was sitting on the deck, calm and unperturbed.

"Really?" she blurted out, glaring at him. "Well, maybe if you'd given me a hand instead of just sitting here, it would be safer."

He glanced up at her face, reddened with physical strain, and raised an eyebrow.

"I am attempting to spare us both time and effort by repairing this antigravity platform," he reminded her patiently, as if talking to a child. "If you insist on exerting yourself in the meantime—"

"Yes, I insist," Tora said grudgingly, frowning at him. "You've been at it for almost an hour. If you could repair it, you'd have done so already."

He finally stopped his work to concentrate on her fully.

"Perhaps if _you_ had assisted _me_ instead of wasting your energy, I might have finished by now."

"You're not an engineer," she retorted. "What makes you think you can mend this thing?"

"I have completed the basic course." He bent over the panel again. "This technology is simple. My knowledge of it should be sufficient."

"Look, I don't wanna know how basic your basic is, but I've had it," she declared resolutely, coming to stand beside him, hands on her hips. "I want you to stop fussing over this blasted thing and help me."

He didn't move to rise. She gave out an exasperated sigh.

"Has it occurred to you that it might be broken beyond repair?"

"Unlikely," was all he said.

"_Spock_—"

"I believe it is now operational," he suddenly announced, sliding the control panel closed and pushing away from the platform.

"Really?" Tora looked frankly unconvinced. "Then how can you explain that it's still lying flat on the deck instead of hovering over it?"

"The diagnostic mechanism is still broken," Spock explained, getting to his feet. "But I believe the platform itself will work. We should try it by putting some weight on it." He looked around in search of a suitable object. "This equipment is too valuable..."

"Oh, for crying out loud," Tora bristled impatiently and stepped onto the platform herself. "See, I told you it wouldn't—whoa!"

The platform jerked up suddenly, like a crazy horse, and Tora barely managed to duck her head in time for it not to be smashed into the ceiling. Before she could recapture her balance, the platform sank back down, just as rapidly, and the young woman rolled off it in an uncontrollable motion. The fact that the said motion had thrown her right into Spock's supportive arms instead of crashing into the nearest wall didn't make her appreciate the experience the tiniest bit better.

"Dammit, you could have warned me!" she yelled, recovering from the shock.

"I did," he pointed out, putting her back on her feet carefully.

The platform was now hovering innocently at the level of their knees, where it was supposed to be in its working mode. Both cadets studied it, Tora with clear suspicion, and Spock with mild doubt. She cleared her throat.

"Tell me one thing, Mr. I-Have-Completed-The-Basic-Course. Will it do this when we put some of that highly sensitive equipment on it?"

"I am... uncertain," Spock admitted. "However, there is one way to find out."

He stepped onto the platform. It remained exactly where it was, showing no inclination to unhorse him. Spock sprang back to the deck, and Tora eyed him accusingly.

"You always set me up like this."

"I did nothing of the sort," he protested, reaching for the handle. "I did not know it was your intention to—"

The deck trembled under their feet once, then the second time. A low hum filled the room, a vibration that was more a sensation than a sound.

"Spock..." Tora intoned warningly.

"I did not do anything," his tone was defensive and puzzled at the same time. "I believe—"

The deck jerked from under their feet, much as the antigravity platform did, but this time they both managed to remain on their feet.

"I believe," Spock said, as though there was no interruption, "that the ship has just gone into warp."

"What?" Tora stared at him, but she, too, could recognize the peculiar sensation. "How's this possible? We were supposed to remain in orbit until oh-eight hundred tomorrow."

"There must have been a change of plans," Spock reasoned. "Perhaps we can locate a member of the crew and ask."

He started for the doors only to have them close suddenly in his face, nearly knocking him off his feet.

"What the hell?" Tora muttered, staring at them perplexed. She crossed over to the control panel and tried several commands. "Manual override isn't working either. What's going on?"

The sudden activation of intercom beat Spock to an answer.

"Attention on decks, Rear Admiral Suguri speaking. This is an unscheduled security drill. All members of the crew are to assume that the ship is now in the hands of a hostile force. Your orders are to attempt to retake the ship. Your performance will be evaluated depending on how fast you can regain control—if you are able to do that at all. The ship will reach one of the designated 'hostile bases' in approximately three hours. If you allow this to happen, it would be considered a failure on the part of the _Enterprise's_ crew. You have your orders. Good luck."

The intercom went dead. Tora stared at Spock dumbstruck.

"Is he serious?"

"Evidently," Spock looked unperturbed. "The ship is at warp, and we are—" he triggered the door panel again to no avail, "—effectively confined here. We must assume that the rest of the crew is in the same position."

"Even the Captain?"

Spock gave a small shrug.

"We have no way of knowing."

Tora frowned. "Well," she said. "The security protocols are pretty clear. We must locate the captain or the most senior officer and receive our orders from them."

Spock's eyebrow rose an inch. "This is all very well," there was a touch of acid in his tone. "But we may not even know that the Captain or the other officers are necessarily 'on our side'. The probability of this drill being directed against the cadets is considerably higher."

"The protocols still stand, Spock," she lifted her chin up defiantly. "This is not an Academy vessel. We must consider ourselves junior officers and act accordingly."

"And how do you suggest we locate the Captain?" he asked her placidly. "The intercom is down. We are locked up here."

"All right, what do you suggest?" she bristled out impatiently.

"We must ascertain the ship's status," he replied at once, all sarcasm draining. "In order to achieve that, we must get to one of the areas from where we can access the main computer. I'm speculating that the 'hostile' is either on the Bridge or in Main Engineering. Those are the only two areas from where they could have seized control of the ship so quickly. We must therefore proceed to—"

"Auxiliary Control," she caught on. "But how do we get there, Spock? We're still locked up."

"We can use the Jeffries tubes."

"They are sealed!"

He looked at her with mild reproach.

"You are thinking like a Security officer."

"Meaning?"

"You are _not_ thinking."

"What? Why, you—"

Impervious to her indignation, Spock continued his explanation on the move towards the far side of the cargo bay, where he knelt in front of the sealed entrance.

"The seals are electromagnetic. If we can create a sufficient resonating pulse, I believe we can break them."

"Great, all we need is a portable electromagnetic resonator," Tora said sarcastically. "I suppose you have one in your sleeve?"

He turned to look at her with the same expression, which she could only label as unbearably smug—one eyebrow lifted, eyes glinting, lips pursed. And that was when the idea hit her as if he had transmitted it right into her brain.

"The platform," she groaned. "I'll get it."

It took them, however, almost ten minutes to construct a crude resonator, during which time Tora mostly danced on the balls of her feet telling him to hurry up. The antigravity platform, stripped of one of the crucial elements of its hardware, was making some erratic movements around the bay. Finally, the hatch opened, and Tora started in eagerly. Spock's hand on her arm stopped her.

"What now?" she breathed out impatiently, looking up at him.

"We also have to be ready for another possibility," Spock said softly and very seriously. "The ship might really _be_ in the hostile hands. We do not know if that was really Admiral Suguri speaking. We may not be certain that this is a drill."

Tora took a moment to consider that and nodded reluctantly. "The probability is low, though, I take it?"

"Indeed," Spock confirmed. "However—"

"I heard you, Spock. We'll be ready."


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

He came to feeling someone kneeling at his side. The presence felt both familiar and not.

"Captain, are you all right?"

Number One. Of course.

"Yes," he breathed out with some difficulty, sitting up abruptly. "I must have blacked out for a moment."

"Quite understandable, sir."

The feel of her hand on his elbow was unnerving, and he jerked his arm free, a bit more roughly than necessary.

"Status."

"We are at warp. Admiral Suguri announced an unscheduled security drill over the comm just now. We are to retake the ship."

"What?" He stared at her in the darkness. "Oh, hell..."

"Captain."

She sounded uncharacteristically alarmed, and it got him alert momentarily.

"What's wrong?"

"We are at warp," she said quietly. "With those plasma injectors still not calibrated properly."

The implication hit him full force, just as a minor tremor of the floor beneath him reminded him that turbolifts were not supposed to go berserk just because someone had engaged the warp drive.

"How bad?" He asked a rather unspecific question, but she understood him perfectly.

"I don't know. The intercom is down. We can neither warn the Admiral nor contact Lieutenant Barry."

"She couldn't possibly have agreed to go along with it with the engines in this state," Pike said. "He must have taken control from the Bridge."

"Captain, I don't understand," Number One admitted warily. "Does he have authorization to do this?"

"I don't know," Pike snapped. "For the moment, let's suggest he does. If not, I'm going to have his skin nailed to the outer hull. Let's get out of here."

"I couldn't reach the hatch without your help, sir," she confessed a bit ruefully.

"By all means," he said, standing up and assuming a well-grounded position. "Be my guest."

It took a lot of somewhat awkward efforts on both their parts to climb out of the damaged cabin into the turbolift shaft, and then to get the closest door hatch to open.

"Where are we?" Pike panted, looking around wildly in the gloom of the reserve lights. The force he had to use to get the doors open was considerable.

Number One made a quick survey of their surroundings.

"Deck Fourteen, sir. All the doors appear to be sealed. We're four decks away from Engineering."

"No," he shook his head, straightening up forcibly. "If Barry had any control of it, we wouldn't be here now. Let's assume Engineering is taken by this 'hostile'," he grimaced. "We need to get to Auxiliary Control."

"That's seven decks up, Captain."

"Then, there's not a moment to lose."

--

The direct passageway to Auxiliary Control was sealed with more secure locks, and Spock's makeshift resonator had quit on them. Spock had opened the last hatch, using his brutal Vulcan force alone, but he couldn't keep opening the doors in this manner for the rest of the voyage. By mutual and almost mute agreement, they crawled onto the deck.

"I think we're in luck," Tora whispered, straightening up. "That's our deck. Auxiliary Control should be just around the corner."

Spock crawled out of the tube, too, and raised a hand suddenly. Tora fell silent at once, looking at him questionably. He used the standard Security code she had taught him a long time ago to show her with one succinct gesture there was another person nearby. She nodded briefly. Spock started around the corner, and she followed closely. Strangely enough the doors to Auxiliary Control were snapped open, giving every impression of this being a forced entry.

Soundlessly, Spock crawled closer. He could sense someone standing just inside the room. As there was no perceivable reason why any of the crew would try to hide their presence, there was only one valid assumption—whoever it was, he was with the 'hostile forces.' Slowly, Spock reached with his hand, ready to apply the Vulcan nerve pinch. He almost felt the weight of the shoulder he was trying to reach, he only needed half a second more to complete the maneuver...

He never got it. His hand was seized, and he was pulled in swiftly; his opponent moved inhumanly fast, as he twisted Spock's arm rather brutally behind his back and shoved Spock straight into the nearest bulkhead. Spock barely managed to turn his face to his side so that it wouldn't be smashed by a rough collision. He was held tightly and stood absolutely immobile, experiencing mild shock. There weren't all that many humans who could outmatch him for speed of reaction.

He heard Tora gasp as she moved into frame, and then the familiar voice of Number One said softly, "Captain, I don't think the cadet poses much of a threat to us now. Do you, sir?"

"Cadet?" another voice, unfamiliar, sounded right in his ear. "What the hell—?"

And his arm was freed from a forceful grip. Spock turned around slowly, awed in advance by the human who had caught him off guard. As he met the steely cool gaze of the mildly confused blue eyes, he was mesmerized completely by the sheer power they emanated. The gaze didn't drift from his own, and Spock felt himself held just as effectively as if he still had his arm twisted.

The silence obviously stretched, for Number One cleared her throat.

"Captain," Spock uttered a bit breathlessly. "I apologize for—"

"Sneaking up on me?" Pike suddenly grinned. "You were good, Cadet, but don't ever do that again. There are certain reflexes I can't quite control. I could have broken your arm, just as easily."

That, Spock could understand only too well.

"I apologize, sir," he repeated ruefully. "We thought you were the hostile."

"Cadet Spock and Cadet Jonnson, I presume?" Number One said, directing her attention towards the still silent Tora. "You two were the only ones who didn't report for your duty stations."

"Yes, ma'am," Tora nodded, blushing slightly and cursing her Nordic coloring mutely. "Chief Engineer Barry—"

"Got to them first," Pike finished, regarding her with a sympathetic smile, before turning to his second officer. "I guess she really was desperate."

"Did you come up here from Engineering?" Number One asked hopefully.

"No, ma'am. Cargo bay three."

"Damn," Pike said. "We need an update on what's happening in there urgently."

Seeing their puzzled reactions, Number One said, "The plasma injectors weren't calibrated properly before we launched."

"That would explain why the ship is moving in such an unstable fashion," Spock nodded thoughtfully, just as the deck beneath their feet gave another jolt.

"Unstable is an understatement," Number One grunted. "Instead of redirecting energy to structural integrity, the engines draw power from it just to keep going. If we don't stop this soon, the ship is going to fall apart."

"We need to get the message to the Admiral," Pike said. "Unfortunately, even if we get right to the Bridge doors and shout, he'll likely think it's some sort of trick."

"Lieutenant Barry must find a way to do something," Number One said grimly. "She must be trying already."

"No, ma'am. She's not."

They all turned towards the door as a young man walked in, looking mildly ruffled.

"Engineering cadet Sunshine Donovan, reporting for duty," he said, coming to attention.

Pike shook his head. "Your parents had a strange sense of humor. Report."

"Lieutenant Barry has had an accident, sir. Just before the drill began, she got her hand burned by a short-circuiting console. She received a mild shock, and I took her to Sick Bay. The doors sealed just as I walked out of there."

"Damn," Pike cursed. "This is getting better and better. Have you tried to reenter Engineering?"

"I couldn't get to the deck, sir."

"All right," Pike said. "All right. Forget Engineering. Even if we do get there, without Barry it's no good. The only remaining option is to convince the Admiral—or to overtake the Bridge."

They contemplated the choices in silence, each trying to devise a method to achieve that.

"There might be another option, Captain," Spock said quietly. As everyone turned to look at him, he fell silent, wary of having spoken out of turn.

"Go on, Cadet," Pike prompted him impatiently. "Right about now I'd buy a working idea from a bulkhead if it could give me any."

Spock raised an eyebrow at the remark, but decided not to comment.

"At warp, the ship is generally using auto-navigation. If anything disrupts it, the computer will automatically begin the shutdown sequence. Such a sequence could only be interrupted by a direct and specific command from a Chief Engineer."

"That is all very well, but how do you suggest we disrupt auto-navigation?"

"All computer systems on board this ship are interconnected. Using this terminal," Spock nodded at the computer console, "I can create a virus that will pass from system to system until it reaches the navigational computer on the Bridge. The virus will block the navigational controls from the astro-charts and erase any previous course-related markings from working memory. Unless the pilot on the Bridge is capable of immediately inputting more than two hundred digits from memory, it will invoke the emergency protocols. The engines will shut down."

For a moment, they pondered his words in silence. Pike looked at Number One uncertainly, as if asking if it was really doable. She frowned, studying Spock.

"Cadet, even if you're capable of creating such a virus in the limited time that we have, the computer systems of which you spoke are each protected by a separate kind of guardian. I'm pretty sure the Admiral has disabled our command codes. How do you suggest we break through these defenses?"

Spock didn't look baffled in the slightest.

"I presume the _Enterprise_ is using standard _Cyber Argus_ security software for its computers?"

The Captain and the second officer shared a half-bemused, half-alarmed look.

"You've obviously done your homework, Cadet." Pike was looking at him suspiciously. "You presume correctly."

"In that case, we will not need the command codes. I know how to override these defenses. It will only require an additional two point seven minutes."

This time the silence was menacing.

"Mr. Spock, I am an A2 computer expert," Number One said grimly, grounding her hands on her hips. "If I spend twelve hours, maybe six if I'm lucky, I could probably devise a way of breaking through one defense perimeter. You're saying you could knock them all out in two minutes?"

"Two point seven minutes," Spock corrected her. "And yes, I can do this. I hold an A4 degree in computer science. _Cyber Argus_ is an outdated piece of programming. It has many vulnerable points. I do not know why it is still in use."

"An A4?" Number One stared at him blankly. "At your age?"

"An outdated piece of programming?" Pike repeated, bemused. He looked at his second officer, who was still scrutinizing Spock in obvious doubt. "You know, if he's not simply bragging, I think I'm starting to share Admiral Suguri's concern for security." He turned to glance at Spock. "Assuming you can really do it, how much time do you need?"

"I will require thirty minutes to create the virus," the Vulcan answered at once. "Perhaps twenty if the Commander assists me. After that, it will take approximately ten minutes more for the virus to reach the navigation station."

"Number One?"

She looked distinctly troubled.

"I don't know, Captain. Creating such a virus shouldn't be difficult for someone with an A4 degree, if Cadet Spock really holds it. As for breaking through the protection grid, we'll have to trust him on his word."

Pike knew what she was thinking. It wasn't completely without precedent that a young officer, never mind a cadet, would overrate his or hers personal skills and abilities in order to make an impression on a superior. But this wasn't a game, this wasn't even a training course. If the young Vulcan was exaggerating his abilities, trusting him would be a crucial mistake, which might cost lives.

As if sensing his doubts, Spock said softly, "Captain, certainly some alternate solutions could be taken while I work on this. This does not need to be your only option."

Pike measured him up with a critical gaze, then turned back to his officer.

"Forty minutes. Will our engines hold that long?"

"They should," she nodded briskly.

Pike sighed. "We're in the hands of an adolescent," he muttered darkly. "You have the go, Mr. Spock. Try to work quickly. Number One stay with him." _Watch him_. "Donovan, get down to deck ten, subsection twelve. Try to bring the communications grid back online."

"Aye, sir."

"Jonnson, get down to Engineering. Find a way, try to break in."

"Yes, sir."

"I'll try to get to the Bridge," Pike told Number One. "As soon as you're done here, join me."

"Yes, sir," she nodded. "Good luck, Captain."

"To all of us, Number One. To all of us."

--

In all truthfulness, the task wasn't that hard, Tora thought, as she crawled down the Jeffries tube once again. She and Spock had opened enough hatches on their way to Auxiliary Control to bring her within close range of Engineering. It only took a little more weaseling and rolling for her to finally plant her feet firmly on the engineering deck. But that was only part of the problem. Getting inside seemed to be a much more challenging job. She stood still for a moment, leveling her breathing and considering her options.

"Hey, big girl."

Caught off guard, Tora whirled around.

"Lieutenant," she breathed out in relief at the sight of Barry. "We heard you were injured."

"Where did you hear that? And it's nothing." But she was cradling her right arm protectively with her left. "We won't get inside this way, but there might be another. Follow me."

Obediently, Tora trotted after her. Lieutenant Barry moved with impressive agility for someone her size.

"Help me get this panel off," she said, crouching near a dispenser slot.

Using three hands and a half, they tried to pull the heavy panel off.

"Can you tell me, Cadet," Barry panted with effort. "What is it with men in power?" The panel gave up a notch. "Do they lose their brains with every new stripe or what? Push harder. That's it, go on, go on." The plating started to come off. "Had he run a pre-launch sequence, he'd have seen the state our engines were in—push!—but no, why would he do that? It would have told everyone what he's up to. Would have—ah, damn!—spoiled the whole blasted drill!"

The panel finally gave, and Tora placed it on the deck behind them carefully. It revealed a rather narrow tunnel, going down at a considerable angle.

"After you," Barry nodded, breathing heavily. "I recommend going legs first."

"Ma'am?" Tora stared at her in shock. "But it leads straight down to the recycling chamber. We'd be incinerated."

"Nah," the Chief Engineer shook her head. "The chamber is offline. What do you think I've been doing all this time? Go on, it won't bite. Scratch some maybe."

Tora swallowed her objections. Nervous as she was, she could tell there was no point in arguing. Awkwardly, she positioned herself at the entrance to the tube, barely fitting in. Then, she let go of the edge and slid down.

It wasn't a soft landing, not by far, but her body was trained to fall and take blows. She hit the bottom of the chamber hard, instantly grouping and rolling off to wear off the inertia softly. Loud cursing and rustling sounds alerted her to Barry's arrival. The Lieutenant was a lot less elegant and comfy in her landing, and it was only Tora's fast reaction that prevented her from splitting her head in two.

"Thanks," Barry muttered, nursing her damaged arm. "Let's get out of here."

They climbed some and crawled some, and finally emerged from the labyrinth of technical tubes and tunnels into Main Engineering.

"Leeds?" Barry called. "Rolsen? Damn, why isn't anyone on duty here?"

"Probably because of this," Tora pointed at the control panel. "It shows life support failure. The alarm must have been triggered and—"

"They were lured out of here," Barry nodded. "Oh hell."

She ran towards the main control junction and swore vigorously.

"We're completely locked out. Dammit, don't they have anyone monitoring the Engineering station on the Bridge? The plasma injectors are on the verge of collapse, we're heating up like a goddamned firework!"

A sudden high-pitched scream filled the big room, making Tora want to cover her ears. There was a loud snapping sound and then the scream became a wail. Smoke started to come in cascading waves from the main reactor chamber.

"What was that?" Tora yelled, her eyes watering.

"One of the injectors gave!" Barry was hovering over the main control console, entering commands feverishly. "We'll be supercritical in no time if we don't shut it down!"

Rushing after her into the chamber, Tora looked wildly around, trying to escape the unbearable pressure of the sound. She saw the failing component clearly, it was dangling dangerously in its hold, the vibration making it jump up and down. Without thinking, without pausing to realize what she was doing, having no memory whatsoever of the reactor's schematics, Tora stepped forward. All she knew was that the sound was driving her insane and she had to stop it. No matter how, she _needed_ to stop it. Paying no attention to Barry, who was shouting something, Tora reached for the handle at the side of the injector and pulled it down determinedly. There was a loud clang, and the screeching stopped abruptly.

Barry was upon her in no time, studying the control panel and examining the damaged equipment. She sighed deeply and turned to look at the Cadet with a set expression in her eyes.

"Okay," she said levelly, as if talking to an excitable mentally ill person. "Okay. You might have well saved us from a core breach. That's the good news."

"What's the bad?"

"We now have lost all hope of regaining control over the engines. The only way to disengage the warp drive now is from the Bridge. And if it doesn't happen within the next thirty minutes tops..." she trailed off, but her gesture was very speaking.

Tora swallowed hard and wiped the sweat off her forehead. _Well, Spock_, she thought wryly. _Your plan had better work_. _Otherwise..._

She didn't plan on finishing that thought.

--

Number One's presence was not a disruption, although Spock was very well aware that she was trying to check his work as much as she was helping him. Maybe even more. But that was only logical and to be expected, and he tried to explain what he was doing as best he could in what limited amount of time they had. It was fortunate that she was a computer expert herself. They understood each other easily, and Spock could feel her confidence in him growing as they progressed further in their work.

If only it had been so with the Captain...

The thought struck him as one completely unexpected. But it was a foregone admission that Chris Pike had made an impression on the young Vulcan and that impression was destined to be a lasting one. Spock couldn't quite put it into words, but he was very aware of the effect the short encounter with the Captain had rendered on him. The sheer power of that man's personality was moving before him wherever he went. It was surprising that the humans couldn't feel it, but then, they weren't telepaths. Power was the word that had applied best to the Captain. Restrained, controlled, formidable power.

The same could be said about his father, but Sarek's power had always been aimed at intimidating Spock, successfully or not. With Captain Pike, he felt no threat, no sense of foreboding. Only great strength and unbending will. If fate had ever brought those two into direct confrontation, Sarek would have faced a worthy opponent. For a moment, Spock had almost wished it had happened.

Abruptly, he realized just what direction his thoughts were taking, and scolded himself. He didn't know if humans indulged in this kind of reflection, but Vulcans certainly didn't. He was behaving disgracefully, if only within his own mind. But that, he knew, was no excuse. And yet...

It was difficult to see the Captain so troubled, so trapped. Spock had barely stopped short from saying something shamefully emotional, something completely irrelevant just to ease that incredible tension. He wanted to say that he could be trusted. That the Captain could rely on him, however ridiculous that would have sounded from the mouth of a cadet. That he wouldn't fail. Mercifully, he had checked himself before he could embarrass them both so, but the very fact that the impulse was present was disturbing. He was a Vulcan, he should not be reacting in this manner. He should not be reacting at all.

Spock pushed the feeling determinedly to the back of his mind to be dealt with later. The only logical way to prove his worth was to get his task done quickly and efficiently. He suppressed a sigh and concentrated fully on the creative sequences of algorithms. They didn't have much time.

--

Every officer or crewmember who had studied the schematics for the Constitution-class knew about another entrance to the Bridge which was through a hatch behind the Security station. However, as the hatch was hardly ever used, only the most persistent members of the maintenance crew remembered about its existence. Most officers simply forgot that it was there. Chris Pike, however, was not one of those. He knew that Suguri must keep that entrance under observation, but he couldn't care less. It was a drill for only one of them, after all.

It took a lot of time and effort, but he had finally managed to reach it. The rarely used door didn't want to open, but he pushed determinedly until it gave. His appearance on the Bridge had caused a small sensation.

"Why, Captain!" Suguri exclaimed, surprised, rising from the command chair. "Aren't you blunt. Are you at least brining a Security squad with you?"

"No," Pike muttered grimly, pulling out of the hatch and straightening up.

"In that case, I can't count your attempt to retake the ship successful," Suguri said, looking over his rather dusty uniform with mild distaste. "It was a nice try, but—"

"Admiral, we have to drop out of warp," Pike cut him off coldly, looking around the Bridge.

The helm was manned by the Admiral's aide, Lieutenant Cohen, who eyed the Captain coolly. There was no one at either the Communications or Engineering stations, and the Science station was manned by a Yeoman.

"Sorry, sir," she chirped, catching Pike's eye. "The Admiral ordered me, and—"

"Admiral, we must drop out of warp now," Pike repeated urgently.

"Why?" Suguri's eyes narrowed at him. "Is that some ruse?"

"It's no ruse, dammit, our engines are barely holding up!" Pike advanced on him in one impressively swift motion. "Can't you feel the trembling? We're falling apart!"

"Captain, you surely don't expect me to believe in such an obvious ploy?"

"Lieutenant, drop out of warp!" Pike slammed his fist into the helm console. Cohen merely looked at him warily and quickly locked it.

"I take orders from Admiral Suguri."

"Admiral, you have to give the order! Go to the Engineering station—see for yourself! Our plasma injectors weren't recalibrated properly when we shipped out. If you don't believe me—take a look!"

"I can feel your frustration, Captain," Suguri said smugly, not taking a step away. "I would be frustrated too, I suppose. My own ship, snatched from under my very nose—and with me on board; yes, that would be most embarrassing."

"Admiral—"

"The C in C didn't believe me, you know. He said we didn't need to heighten security. I told him I would prove to him he was wrong. I guess stealing the _Enterprise_ before her famous Captain would even wake up would do the trick, wouldn't you say?"

"You had no authorization to do this," Pike realized, stunned. "You son of a bitch, you had no authorization!"

"Watch your tongue." Suguri's face darkened. "If you want to keep those fancy stripes on your sleeves."

The turbolift doors opened suddenly, to the Admiral's utter amazement. Number One and Spock stepped onto the Bridge with almost identical grimly stoic expressions.

"Do you require assistance, Captain?" Number One asked, surveying the Bridge gloomily.

"I ordered the turbolifts disabled," Suguri wailed, glaring at his adjutant.

"They were, sir," Cohen mumbled. "I don't understand how they—"

"We've been able to reactivate them, thanks to the timely interference of our Chief Engineer," Number One said.

"The Admiral had no authorization for this drill," Pike informed her quickly. "But he refuses to cooperate. What's your status? Was the virus effective?"

Number One turned to Spock even as the deck began to shake violently under their feet.

"I—would—say—yes—Captain," Spock replied, grabbing the railing for support. "The engines are—"

"Sir, the engines are shutting down!" Cohen shouted in a panicked voice.

"What?" Suguri exclaimed. "But how—?"

There was an unmistakable rustle coming from the hull as subspace had curled into a wormhole, throwing the ship into normal space.

"Half impulse," Cohen reported. "One quarter... space normal speed... Admiral, we stopped!"

"Good work, Mr. Spock, Commander," Pike exhaled with relief.

"What has happened?" Suguri looked completely dumbfounded. "How did you—?"

"Admiral, you are relieved," Pike said sharply. "As are you, Lieutenant. Step away from the console."

At these words, Number One and Spock both stepped closer, flanking the Captain. Still muttering darkly, Suguri nodded to his aide. Number One shoved past him, sat down and reactivated the console.

"Captain, I'll need some time to give you an estimate on our position," she said, running her fingers over the controls smoothly. "Cadet Spock's virus has been... very effective."

"Take your time. I would imagine Lieutenant Barry will need some too to get us underway," Pike shook his head. "I'm afraid we're going to have to return to the drydocks after that." He turned around to look at the Vulcan. "Mr. Spock, reactivate Communications. See if you can raise any vessels."

"Aye, sir."

The intercom whistled, interrupting the Captain midword. Frowning, Pike hit the button.

"Bridge."

"Captain, Cadet Donovan here. I have the intercom functioning, sir."

"Yes, Cadet, I think I noticed. Good work—"

"But Captain, there's something strange going on with the main communications grid," the young man sounded alarmed. "It looks like we are transmitting a signal on a lower subspace band."

"What kind of signal?" Pike sobered immediately.

"I don't know, sir. But I've tried to stop it and couldn't even get close."

"Acknowledged," Pike snapped. "Mr. Spock?"

"Confirmed, Captain," the Vulcan replied, listening to the earpiece intently. "We are continuously transmitting a homing signal."

"Block it!" Pike rounded on the Admiral. "What's this about?"

"It's not my doing, Captain," Suguri shrugged, bewildered. "I ordered Mel to disengage the Communications station. We never touched it since."

"Lieutenant," Pike turned toward Cohen. "Would you care to explain—"

"Captain!" Number One called suddenly. "There's a vessel decloaking off our port bow!"

"Identification," Pike snapped.

"Our sensors are still not functioning properly, sir, I can't make a positive ID."

"Then give me visual, dammit."

"I'm trying, sir. It's not exactly responsive either..."

"Oh my God."

It wasn't clear who said that, as several people gasped at the same time. For on the viewscreen, advancing straight at the helpless _Enterprise_ was the unmistakable image of a Klingon Bird-of-Prey.

"It isn't my doing, Captain, I swear," Suguri was muttering over and over again, pale and shaken.

Pike wasn't listening. He activated the comm once more. "Pike to Engineering."

"Barry here," came an annoyed grunt.

"Lieutenant, we're about to get hit. Can you give me shields, phasers, anything?"

"Not a chance, Captain," she bristled out, obviously incensed. "We barely have the power for structural integrity and life support. Whoever's out there, sweet-talking them might be a good idea."

"Captain, they're charging weapons," Number One warned.

"Dammit." Pike propelled himself to the upper rim, hovering over Spock. "Hail them."

"I'm already trying, sir. No response."

"They're firing!"

The hit was barely half-hearted, but without shields, it was more than enough to give them a thorough shake. Suguri fell backwards with a yelp. Tora, who entered the Bridge from the turbolift at that very second, was nearly knocked back over, but managed to stay on her feet. Spock grabbed the edge of the console, and Pike in turn grabbed his shoulder for support. Together they bent over the panel.

"Try to use the same carrier frequency."

"Yes, sir." Spock was inputting combination after combination, attempting to hit the correct one. "Captain, I believe I have partial signal through now. They are responding."

"On screen."

The Klingon commander looked incredibly pleased with himself as he surveyed the disarray on the _Enterprise's_ Bridge.

"Well, well, well, Captain Pike," he intoned almost sweetly. "Long time no see."

"I don't believe I had the pleasure," Pike replied grimly.

"Oh, we've met, Captain, though I'm not surprised that you don't remember. But my commander remembers you well."

"Your commander?"

"General Khort."

Pike turned visibly pale, but his expression didn't soften one bit.

"Spare my ship. If it's me you're after—"

"Oh, I fully intend to, Captain," the Klingon assured him. "Why would I be interested in that bucket of bolts? But even if I were, I don't have the time right now. I'm afraid I have specific orders to deliver you to the General immediately. He is a severe taskmaster, Captain. And his displeasure is most... disagreeable."

He looked over his shoulder and barked a curt command. The image on the viewscreen faded, but before anyone on the Bridge could so much as take a deep breath, the low hum of a transporter broke the tense silence.

"Captain!" Number One shouted, but it was too late.

Pike was disappearing rapidly in the reddish glow of the Klingon transporter beam. And as his hand was still clenched tightly on the Vulcan's shoulder, Spock disappeared along with him. Simultaneously a second transporter beam fixed on Lieutenant Cohen, who smirked wryly in their stunned faces. Number One cursed loudly watching as the Klingon vessel went into warp. Tora was staring at the suddenly empty chair blankly.

"What do we do now?" she asked, sounding completely lost at this new development.

"I don't know," Number One said, pressing her hands to her eyes tiredly and rubbing them vigorously. "I don't know."


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter**** 5**

Awareness was returning to him gradually and it was not a pleasant sensation. Of course, he had been stunned before during training exercises, but never this heavily. The thick lump in his throat seemed to be expanding, interfering with his breathing. Still half-conscious, Spock tried to sit up.

"Easy." The voice was accompanied by a steadying arm around his shoulders. "You've been out for quite a while. Trust me, you want to move very carefully now."

The advice was only too apt, as his abrupt motion had already stirred the tremendous pain underneath his skull, waiting to be awakened. Spock opened his eyes stubbornly.

"Captain," he uttered hoarsely as his gaze focused on Pike. "Has anything of significance transpired since I lost consciousness?"

Pike sat back, leaning on the opposite wall of a small cell, and grinned wryly. This was probably the most peculiar variance of the 'What did I miss?' question he had ever heard. Spock had been stunned shortly after they were beamed aboard the Klingon vessel. They didn't expect to see anyone but Pike there, but couldn't be persuaded to send the Vulcan back to the _Enterprise_.

"Lieutenant Cohen, whose real name is Gurgh or Kurgh—I wasn't sure, turned out to be a Klingon agent," Pike told Spock quietly. "He infiltrated Starfleet about two years ago with the single purpose of finding a way to deliver me to his patron."

"General Khort," Spock remembered.

"Yes," Pike nodded. "We are currently underway to his residence. The Klingons call it Zharat."

"It is an M-class moon, if I am not mistaken." Spock sat up straighter, ignoring the spreading headache. "The only habitable satellite of the planet G-637, two light years from the Federation border."

The Captain glanced at him, with a mildly amused expression.

"Cadet, do you know everything?"

An eyebrow rose up slightly on the impassive face.

"Sir, that would be impossible," Spock said seriously.

"Never mind," Pike waved his hand dismissively. "You're right though, it's the closest Klingon outpost, a very small military installation. And it's governed by Khort."

"If I may ask, Captain, what is your quarrel with the general?"

Pike didn't answer at once, studying the Vulcan for a long moment. He was obviously weighing his options. Finally, with a resigned sigh, he said, "Cadet, I cannot answer your question without disclosing classified information."

"I understand, sir," Spock nodded, accepting the rebuff.

Pike shook his head. "I don't think you do. Our chances of surviving this little adventure are... slim. However, if we do, you must not repeat what I'll tell you to anyone. You read me?"

"Yes, sir."

"Three years ago, I received an order to proceed to the Klingon Bordering Zone to planet Lipus. It was officially neutral, but both we and the Klingons took steps to make it an ally. Starfleet Intelligence received information that Roren, the head of the Lipusian government, was more inclined to form an alliance with the Klingons. They suspected he was being pressured by them on a personal level, and so in order to allow him to make an impartial decision, I was ordered to deliver him to Starbase 8 for negotiations."

"But sir," Spock looked puzzled. "Is not such interference a contradiction to the letter of the Prime Directive?"

Pike glanced at him sharply.

"If you ask this question, Mr. Spock, it suggests you already know the answer, and since I'm not at liberty to discuss my orders, let's assume you didn't ask."

Spock stiffened slightly, but conveyed his agreement with a silent nod.

"We knew that the zone was patrolled by the Klingons, so we had to act quickly," Pike continued. "We located the prime minister, beamed him aboard and prepared to get underway, when a Klingon light cruiser decloaked. They weren't in the mood for talking. We engaged them." A shadow crossed his face at the memory, and his eyes assumed a cold, forbidding expression. "We targeted their weapons array, and to this day I don't know what happened. Either my tactical officer missed, or there was some malfunction aboard their ship, but whatever it was, it caused a reactor breach. They were obliterated. Later we found out that the ship was commanded by the daughter of the Klingon commander of that sector, Khort. He had sworn to avenge her death."

"That does not seem to be logical," Spock noted cautiously. "Revenge would not resurrect his daughter."

"Klingons are rarely logical, Cadet," Pike said grimly. "But in all honesty, I can't say that I don't understand this kind of justice. An eye for an eye might be a cruel philosophy, but it has its internal logic nevertheless. Humans used to live by it for too long a time for me to claim ignorance."

"You were following orders," Spock offered quietly.

"That excuse has been used too many times to rationalize the most repulsive crimes in human history," Pike snapped. "I followed my orders. But I'm the one responsible for the destruction of that ship, not Starfleet Command. If I should pay the price, it wouldn't be totally unfair." His voice softened, as he glanced at Spock again. "But you _are_ an innocent. You shouldn't be here, shouldn't pay for another man's crimes. Hell, to think that if only I didn't touch you..."

"Captain," Spock started slowly, troubled deeply by the human's obvious distress and uncertain how to address it. He was never good at dealing with emotions. "Regrets are illogical. I am here. I do not consider it your fault, merely a misfortune."

In the semidarkness of their confinement, Pike stared at him grimly.

"I don't think you realize how deeply we are in trouble, Cadet. This is not a drill, unscheduled or not. This is as real as it gets. Whether or not you're ready to face it, it's upon you. The sooner you understand this, the better." He paused, then shook his head regrettably. "It's a pity you don't have the benefit of Command training. It would have been easier if—"

"But I do, sir," Spock hastened to assure him. "I am trained in Command as well."

"Really?" Pike eyed him in surprise. The Vulcan didn't strike him as being suited for Command. In a moment, his face closed. "In that case, Mr. Spock, much as it pains me, I have to ask you if your training has already covered captivity protocols."

"It has, sir." Spock stiffened even more.

"You must be aware then that sometimes your captors would not be interested in information. Sometimes they simply wish to assault you."

"I understand, Captain. I am prepared."

"Are you sure?" Pike shot him a penetrating glance. "It's not only your ability to deal with beatings and torture that worries me. Sometimes the assault might take on a more personal nature. It might be—"

"Sexual," Spock finished calmly. "I know, sir. Common psychological aspects of imprisonment had been explained to us in abundance. You need not concern yourself in my regard unnecessarily."

Pike didn't look away, studying him fixedly. "Cadet, I'm trying to decide whether it's Vulcan bravado or young person's bravado. I have seen how those 'common psychological aspects' broke people way more seasoned and much tougher than you. You are taking this way too lightly."

"I assure you, Captain, I am not," Spock said, with just a tiny hint of defiance. "I have been subjected to the Guantanamo test at the Academy along with my colleagues from Command school. I have passed. The test comes as close to genuine experience as possible. I understand the implications of our current situation fully. I merely see no point in dwelling on the events that have not happened yet and might, in fact, not happen at all."

The Vulcan's tone had never once risen, and yet Pike got the distinct impression he had just been slapped in the face. He felt a smile tugging at the corners of his lips and fought to suppress it. The situation definitely didn't warrant it. But it was damned ironic that he had succeeded with mere words where the brutal force of their captors had no effect—he provoked an emotional response from the Vulcan, apparently having utterly annoyed him by treating him like a kid.

"I apologize for presuming, Mr. Spock," he said, trying carefully not to sound as if he was compromising with a twelve-year-old. "I only wanted to make sure you're ready to face it. You could hardly have expected such a development when you received this assignment."

"Captain," Spock let out a small sigh. "I might not be a commissioned officer yet, but I have taken the same oath you have, sir, when I entered the Academy. Accepting it includes expecting the unexpected. You may rely on me as you would on any of your officers."

How Pike managed not to laugh at that he couldn't tell. It probably had only been the years of practicing emotional restraint, necessary for command positions. He was glad he could hold his laughter though. He would never have been able to explain that he did not mean it unkindly without getting himself even more in trouble.

"Well then, Mr. Spock. I have already examined our detention area and have reached the conclusion that it's not possible to escape while we are aboard this ship. But perhaps you might do your own share of exploring to see if our analyses match?"

Spock rose to his feet at once. "A highly logical suggestion, sir. I shall try."

"Good luck," Pike nodded, making an effort to keep sarcasm out of his voice. He knew he had done the right thing by giving Spock something to do rather than simply contemplate the graveness of their situation. But it was a small consolation indeed. A very small one.

--

"Bottom line, Lieutenant," Number One snapped tiredly.

The Engineer pursed her lips.

"Bottom line, _Captain_, is that you need to make a command decision. In three hours best, I can give you either partial impulse power, or long ranged communications, but not both at the same time." Barry looked around her rather disheveled Engine Room gloomily. "You and I are the only officers left on board, apart from Ensign Shenzhen, but he'd make an even lousier engineer than he does a doctor. I can't create miracles, not alone anyway."

Number One shook her head.

"In three hours the warp trail will be barely detectable. We can either crawl on it on impulse or send for help and lose it for sure."

"I didn't say I wanted to be in your shoes," Barry said. "But ultimately it's your call."

Number One bit her lip and frowned. Either prospect looked rather grim with regard to saving the missing people.

"Hey, Jonnson," she said suddenly to Tora, who was working nearby on a piece of circuitry.

"Ma'am." The Cadet straightened up and came closer.

"What's wrong?" Number One asked. "I saw you wincing. Are you injured?"

"No, ma'am," Tora blushed furiously. "Begging your pardon, it's the way you say my name. It's pronounced 'Yonson' not 'Johnson'."

"You're a Valkyrie, all right," Barry chuckled, looking her over. "Swedish?"

"Norwegian, ma'am."

"I apologize," Number One said flatly. "You heard our options."

It wasn't a question, and Tora didn't pretend not to have overheard.

"Yes, ma'am."

"What do you think we should do?"

Tora shifted a wary gaze from one officer to another. "Commander, I really don't think I—"

"It's all right, Cadet. Speak up, it helps me focus."

Tora hesitated another bit, then spoke her mind without further ado.

"Ma'am, if we go after them, what chances do we have? No shields, no phasers, no crew. We might find them eventually, but we'd be toothless."

"Not necessarily," Barry said. "Even if—_even if_ we manage to find their trail at once, it'd take us some time to catch up with them on impulse. I'm pretty sure that I can get the main reactor back online in several hours. We'll have shields and phasers, possibly minimal warp."

"You're sure about that?" Number One asked.

"Yeah," the Engineer sighed. "We have a spare injector in our hold, and in this mess we didn't get rid of the old one yet. We can replace the damaged ones."

"In that case, I'd recommend going after them," Tora said quietly. "The longer we wait, the lesser are our chances of recovering the Captain."

"And your friend." Number One added.

Tora lowered her eyes. "Yes, ma'am."

"It doesn't solve our personnel problem," Barry reminded them. "We have about forty, maybe forty-five people on board, half of them cadets. The rest are crewmembers on their first tour of duty. We might get the ship battle-ready, but not the people."

"But she's right," Number One said. "The Captain's chances are getting dimmer with every hour."

"Also—if I may, ma'am—someone on Earth is bound to have figured out something's wrong," Tora said. "And if they start the search, they might find us somewhere along the way."

"Unlikely," Number One shook her head. "We've been traveling at warp eight for three hours forty-two minutes. By now we could be anywhere."

"Still having trouble discovering our position?" Barry raised her eyebrows.

The second officer sighed heavily. "I can undo what Spock's virus has done, but it'll take about twenty-four hours."

Barry whistled and glanced over at Tora. "Your friend doesn't leave anything to chance, does he? Pity nobody told him we might want to use navigation sometime during this life again."

"I don't think he expected to be kidnapped," Tora replied quietly. "Ma'am."

"It doesn't matter," Number One broke up the argument. "I can program basic coordinates manually, but I didn't have the time yet."

"You can program them manually?" Barry stared.

"I have eidetic memory. I would never have allowed him to do it, if I couldn't back us up like this." Number One paused. "All right," she said resolutely. "We've wasted enough time. Lieutenant, make impulse engines your priority. We're going after them."

"Yes, ma'am." Barry studied her dubiously. "Someone on Earth might not be happy about it."

"I'll take that chance. Jonnson," Number One fixed her with an appraising gaze. "I'm not all that sure that you are better in any way than your classmates here, but you seem to be keeping your cool. I grant you a field promotion to ensign for the duration of this expedition. Your priority is personnel. Make a detailed list of everyone's skills and experiences and assign them a battle station which would suit best. Further, as you might have noticed people are tired. Make sure everyone is still sane around here. We have a lot of work to do, but we don't need people collapsing at the moment of Red Alert. Coffee, stimulants, half-hour nap—create a schedule and make sure everyone's as ready as we can make them. Can you do it?"

"Yes, ma'am," came a confident reply.

"Good. Now, you're from Security division, correct? Do you have tactical training?"

"Of course, ma'am."

"Ever studied Klingon battle tactics?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"What's your score at the Reed Alert test?"

"689, ma'am."

"Impressive," Number One nodded, though she didn't look one bit enthusiastic. "Not the same as real battle experience, but impressive. Your station will be Bridge, Tactical."

Tora blinked, and this time there was a beat missed, before she answered.

"Aye, ma'am."

"That's all for now then. You're dismissed, Ensign."

Once Tora was out of earshot, Barry looked at Number One with a tired ironic smile.

"You're sure it's a good idea?"

"She has it in her," the other woman sounded more convinced than she looked. "Besides, I don't have much of a choice." She turned to face the Chief Engineer and shook her head. "Cait, you look terrible."

"Look who's talking," Barry chuckled. "Believe me, I feel worse. But sadly neither of us can be spared to take a nap. If you'll excuse me, I need to get this show on the road."

"Carry on," Number One nodded. "I'll be on the Bridge."

--

The second awakening was no better than the first, but this time he was alone. Spock paced the cell gloomily, searching for any weaknesses, but there were none. The narrow window at the ceiling was protected by a forcefield, and Spock could find no crack in the defense mechanism. His inner time sense told him he had been unconscious for an hour and twenty minutes, and it was obviously enough time to get the prisoners down to the planet.

Spock's frustration was threatening to become overwhelming. After yet another unsuccessful tour around the cell, he attempted to meditate, but concentration failed him. Was the Captain already dead? What could Spock do to ascertain his status?

He sat on the cold floor, tugging his knees to his chest. The captivity protocols, of which the Captain had reminded him, stated clearly that the first duty of every officer taken prisoner was to escape. If it proved impossible, the officers were required to cooperate without compromising vital information in order to preserve their lives and health. But hard as he had tried, Spock could not remember a single regulation that would fit his current situation.

The door opened suddenly, and the Vulcan sprang to his feet. Two Klingon guards shoved Pike in headfirst and retreated before he reached the floor.

"Captain!" Spock knelt at his side, hesitant to touch him.

The human looked terrible. His tunic was torn in many places, smeared in blood and burns, the demolished fabric fusing itself to the exposed flesh, making its removal a torture in itself. Pike moaned softly and pushed Spock's hands away.

"Don't," he croaked in a strained voice. "You'll make it worse." He sat up awkwardly, leaning carefully on the cool surface of the wall. His face was bruised, and there was a streak of drying blood trickling out of the corner of his mouth. "It's okay," Pike muttered, intercepting his gaze. "It looks worse than it is."

Realizing he was staring at the Captain transfixed, Spock rose to his feet abruptly and, running mentally through the first aid manual, walked towards the far end of the room. There was a big water jar there, and although the liquid was stagnant, it seemed harmless enough. Quickly and without a second thought, Spock tore a wide band from his tunic and sopped it in the water. He then took the old chipped cup and filled it.

"Please, Captain," he said quietly, sinking to his knees at Pike's side once more. "You require water."

Pike opened his eyes with difficulty, and when he focused them on Spock, it wasn't a kind stare.

"Are you trying to earn some bonus points?"

Spock blinked.

"Sir?"

"Never mind." Pike took the offered cup and took a cautious sip. Apparently detecting nothing dangerous, he downed the cup. "Thanks," he breathed out.

Spock placed the cup carefully on the floor, then reached to clean the swelling on Pike's neck. The Captain flinched as the cold material touched the inflamed skin, and reflexively shrank from contact.

"Sir, if you would allow me?" Spock almost sounded exasperated. "This needs to be cleaned."

Pike fixed him with a dark glare.

"Cadet, are you also a doctor?"

"No, sir."

"I didn't think so. I can do this myself, I'm not dying yet," he snapped half-heartedly, taking the cloth out of Spock's hand. Spock pulled back abruptly, but still a moment too late. Pike glanced up at him sharply. "Why are you shaking?" he demanded in a steely tone. "I can't believe you're that frightened."

Spock stiffened, backing away until he reached the opposite wall.

"I am Vulcan, Captain," he reminded Pike quietly. "I do not experience fear."

"Then why—?"

Spock's whole posture was screaming reluctance, but he finally admitted, "The ambient temperature is considerably lower than my preference."

"You're just cold." Pike relaxed slightly, pressing the compress cautiously to the angry grazes on his neck. "I'm sorry, I hadn't thought about that. No offence, Mr. Spock."

"None taken, sir."

For a few moments, Pike hissed and cringed as he cleaned some of his bruises. Spock simply watched him intently, as if checking on the quality of his work. That got to the Captain faster than he expected.

"Mr. Spock," he tried to give the Vulcan an encouraging smile, but his irritation turned it into a rather wry grin. "There's no need to be so concerned. Khort isn't here yet. His officers were merely having some fun with painsticks. It hurts, but for a healthy body it acts like a stimulant. Quite invigorating."

Spock raised an eyebrow. "Indeed, sir? In that case you should probably recommend it to the Surgeon General to put it into service for—recreational purposes."

Pike choked, stopped his ministrations and looked at Spock incredulously, but the Vulcan appeared absolutely above reproach.

"I did not realize you had a sense of humor, Cadet."

"Humor, Captain?" Spock managed to look slightly insulted. "I was being serious."

Pike chuckled. "And a wicked one at that. Tell you what, if we do get out of here, I'll follow your recommendation and do just that." He stretched his arm tentatively, and a sharp pain in his side made him instantly regret it. "On second thought, probably not."

"Did they ask you any questions, Captain?" Spock asked quietly.

"No," Pike shook his head. "It's not what I'm here for."

"I do not understand."

The Captain sighed.

"You don't seem to know much about the Klingons, do you? In a way, I envy you." He shook his head. "They have a strict code of honor. The Federation isn't at war with the Empire at the moment. But even if it were... I'm Khort's personal enemy. A blood enemy, and there's no higher degree of hatred for Klingons. By their law, he's entitled to his revenge, and no one dares kill me without his direct order. It's not that they wouldn't like to use the chance to extract information. But their methods are rather primitive. They know that if they use them, I'll die sooner than say anything of value. They know it's no use."

Spock believed him instantly. Seemingly unemotional and even in his own speech, he had always been sensitive to other people's inflections. On Vulcan, the subtle hints were almost the only reliable source of gauging others' state of mind. There was no self-praise in the Captain's words, merely a statement of fact. The respect Spock felt for this man had expanded another notch.

"Captain, I searched the cell while you were gone," Spock said. "I regret to report that I couldn't locate any possible weakness in the defenses."

"Don't waste time," Pike shook his head. "This is a small fortress with hardly thirty soldiers in garrison. But it's heavily protected by forcefields. Even if we managed to get out of this cell, we would never be able to leave the site, not without disabling their whole defense grid first. No, Mr. Spock, we won't escape that way. But I do have a plan," he smiled at Spock gently.

"Indeed, sir? May I ask—"

"Later, Cadet. My plan requires both you and me to be well rested."

"Very well, sir," Spock acquiesced, torn between curiosity and obedience. "I shall attempt to meditate."

"Is that how your species rests?" Pike asked, stretching out on the cold floor.

"In essence, sir. Vulcans do sleep, but in an environment such as this I fear an attempt would be useless."

"Is there anything I can do to help you?"

"No, sir. I have sufficient training to fulfill the task. I foresee no difficulty."

"You sound certain," Pike muttered. "Very well. Do what you can, Cadet. I'll need you alert and thinking."

"Yes, sir."

Pike was asleep within seconds. Spock recognized the technique he used to achieve this state as it, too, was part of Command training. It proved completely ineffective for Vulcans, but judging by the almost automatic way the Captain had implemented it, he had been using it successfully for years. It was reasonable, too, Spock reflected. It allowed the brain to restart and some autonomic functions of the body to rejuvenate in the most uncomfortable of environments. Given their current circumstances, Spock could see how this could be of use, but he was grateful that the Captain didn't insist on him trying it, too.

For his own part, he had to deal with the cold first if he wanted any hope to achieve the necessary level of concentration to survive. Fortunately, his years on Earth made him improve the basic technique somewhat as he was often uncomfortable with human environments. He could recall a number of occasions when this particular skill had proved useful.

He remembered vividly his first field training mission on Mars where he had met Tora. The two of them were accidentally left behind and stranded on the surface for three days well away from any habitable zone. Their field training had turned into a survival course in the blink of an eye. Tora had often said afterwards that she would not have made it without him, but while this was undoubtedly true, Spock knew that the opposite was true just as well. However inopportune the accident itself was, it was fortunate that neither of them was left there alone.

He was impressed beyond words by her redoubtable spirit and sheer force of will. The presence of mind that she showed was something he had never expected. He believed at first that her self-assured conduct was the result of her not understanding the odds against them, but he discovered quickly he was wrong. She knew the odds. She simply refused to accept defeat based on nothing but statistical probability. And Spock could not deny that the fact of them managing to survive long enough to be rescued proved her illogical conviction right. For the first time then he thought that perhaps his mother was not such an extraordinary exception to humankind as he used to believe.

Tora's steadfast confidence in him and her patient persistence made him gradually more open to the idea of exploring the personal side of humanity—something that during his first months he tried to avoid at all costs. The risk he was taking by opening up was considerable, but in retrospect Spock could not say he regretted it. He did not regret his association with Luca, despite occasional differences in their views. In a sense, Luca was no less stubborn than Spock, but the thoughtfully gentle consideration he showed the Vulcan had always put Spock at ease whether in a professional or a personal setting, and that was no small feat. He did not regret being elected the chairman of the Know-It-All Club for two years in a row, however illogical he had found the idea in the first place and despite the fact that the position required constant social interaction.

He did regret Dara, though. He was aware that he was reacting to her in ways that he was not supposed to as a Vulcan, but hard as he had tried he could not escape the persistent feeling. It was shameful, this lack of control. He might have maintained a cool exterior, unlike his human classmates who turned into babbling idiots in her presence, but he was well aware that his internal reaction was regrettably similar. He made a logical decision of avoiding her, but she showed a most unfortunate tendency of bumping into him at least once every other day, testing his control. The way she smiled at him on those occasions didn't make his task any easier, determined as he was not to give in.

It was strange how the thoughts of all these people made the gloomy atmosphere of the cell a little lighter. And yet Spock knew he had to banish them if he was to succeed in his task. Concentration was everything, and he was too well-trained to allow irrelevant thoughts, however comforting, to distract him. He focused on submerging the physical reaction to temperature and reached his goal almost easily. The block would not hold indefinitely, of course, but it gave him a much desired break. He could summon enough energy now to start a remobilizing meditation. Whatever the Captain's plan was, his order was clear. And Spock intended to follow it to the best of his abilities.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

The _Enterprise_ was a ship of exploration, built in a rather idealistic era of Starfleet history. As a result, it had no specifically designated Tactical station, its functions being split between Helm, Navigation and Science stations. Tora's first official watch as an Ensign assigned to Tactical began with reconfiguring the Navigation console to reunite those functions under her control. The ship was moving steadily following the warp trail, but they were several hours behind the Klingons.

"Lucky we still have sensors," Cadet Fernandez muttered, looking up from the Science station. "This trail is barely visible."

"Luck had nothing to do with it," Number One said, massaging her neck. "We have sensors thanks to Lieutenant Barry's quick thinking."

"Did I hear someone say my name?" Barry entered the Bridge, looking even more ruffled than several hours ago. "How's the navigation?" she asked, stopping at the Helm station, where Number One was sitting. "We'll have warp in ten minutes."

"Cait..." Number One exhaled in awe.

"Uh-uh," Barry raised a hand hurriedly. "Warp one's gonna be your top speed, bear that in mind."

"Shields? Phasers?"

"Fully operational."

"Great job, Lieutenant." Number One smiled at her. "I have partial navigation back, I can set the rest of the coordinates manually as we go."

"I have no idea how you do this," Barry shook her head, glancing at the viewscreen.

"That's just the way my mind works," Number One shrugged.

"Should I order more coffee, ma'am?" Tora asked, watching both women carefully. "Lieutenant?"

"No," Barry snapped emphatically. "Any more and I'll go caffeine crazy. I'm seeing some weird colors already."

"Maybe you should stay off your feet for a few minutes," Number One suggested. "Who knows how long—"

"Ma'am!" Fernandez interrupted her, barely containing her anxiety-based excitement. "I'm picking up a ship on an intercept course. The warp signature matches the Bird of Prey we've been following."

"Looks like someone's sent a welcoming committee," Barry grunted.

"Time to intercept?"

"Three minutes twenty-two seconds."

"Why weren't they detected earlier?" Barry asked.

"They were likely cloaked," Number One said, as she came to her feet, moving around the Bridge. "Red Alert. Raise shields. Ensign, charge weapons."

"Already charging, ma'am."

"Cait, can you work from here?" Number One nodded towards the Engineering station.

"I could, but if anything goes wrong I'd better be down there."

"Go," Number One sighed, knowing she was right, but wishing she could have someone with battle experience on the Bridge, apart from herself. True, a Bird of Prey was no match for any ship of the _Enterprise's_ class, but they hardly were in top shape. They depended solely on the actions of a very few people who had never been in a similar situation before.

"All stations report ready, Captain," Tora said, checking her controls.

"Are you all right, Ensign?" Number One asked quietly, placing a hand on her shoulder.

"Yes, ma'am." Tora smiled a slightly faltering smile at her. "Just a mild course of adrenaline."

Number One patted her back sympathetically.

"It's all right, Ms. Jonnson, you can do it. Nice and steady, just like the simulator."

"Yes, ma'am."

Number One settled at the helm again.

"We're in visual range," Fernandez reported. "They're targeting us... They're firing!"

"Everybody calm down!" Number One raised her voice as several people gasped. "Shields are holding. I'm taking evasive actions. Ensign, target their weapons array."

The _Enterprise_ took another hit, as the Klingons were obviously anticipating their maneuvers.

"Target locked!" Tora yelled over yet another hit.

"Return fire!"

Tora pressed the panel vehemently, barely sparing a glance at the viewscreen. She was so intent on not making a mistake, she could feel the muscles in her arms trembling.

"Minimal damage," Fernandez said, hovering over the scanners. "Ma'am, they're targeting our engines."

"Shields?"

"At sixty percent and falling."

"Ensign, I'm going to bring us over them," Number One spoke to Tora quickly. "Target their port section. You'll see two identical manifolds directly under the port nacelle. They'll only be visible for a couple of seconds. Fire the moment you get the lock."

"Aye, ma'am," Tora nodded her understanding, feeling a streak of sweat trickling down her neck.

"Brace yourselves," Number One warned.

The next moment the _Enterprise_ rushed into a spectacular dive. Never before had any of the cadets or freshmen seen a starship maneuver like this. A collective intake of breath was deafening. The only person not watching was Tora, who had a genuine case of tunnel vision. She was focusing so completely on her targeting scanners that the rest of the universe simply ceased to exist. Several more gasps and shouts ensued as the G-load went up in a jolt, only to be equally abruptly decreased again.

"Do you see them?" Number One hissed through gritted teeth, inputting commands at light speed.

_Yes_, Tora thought locating two small hatches. _Yes, ma'am._

"Ensign?"

Tora fired. And then, her world went blank. She was vaguely aware of the ship resuming a normal flight pattern, of Fernandez announcing that the Klingon vessel had been disabled, of Number One checking with Engineering and ordering a damage report. She was aware, but her hands were still glued to the controls and her eyes continued to stare unblinkingly into the target lock.

"Ensign?" Number One called. "Ms. Jonnson? It's over." Seeing no effect, she came over and shook the girl gently, gripping her shoulders. "Tora. It's over. It's okay. You can look up now."

Slowly, Tora raised her head and suddenly the senses were pouring back into her in a rush. She drew a shuddering breath and felt a stinging pain inside her chest, telling her she had been holding it for quite some time.

"I'm sorry," she muttered, grinning sheepishly at her commanding officer. "I'm sorry, I…"

"You did great," Number One smiled at her. "Why don't you step out for a minute, have some water? We have about an hour before we reach our destination."

"Oh. Did we—?"

"I've calculated the trajectory and the time it took them to make a roundabout trip. I think they took our people to Zharat."

"A Klingon outpost," Tora said weakly. "Small contingent... patrols..."

"That's the one," Number One nodded. "You are a good tactical officer, aren't you? Go on, you need a break." She released Tora and addressed the eclectic Bridge crew at large. "Good work, everyone. Keep it up and we'll find the Captain and head home in no time."

The words echoed in her head as Tora moved towards the turbolift. For the first time during the last several hours, she felt hope stirring within her. Their chances had made a leap from impossible to improbable in the blink of an eye. She hoped they would raise them again before it was too late.

--

They weren't left alone for long, though. The cell door opened suddenly, and the guards pulled both of them to their feet rather roughly, ordering them out. Both Pike and Spock were alert and ready, but there wasn't much they could do, being outnumbered four to one. Spock was monitoring the Captain vigilantly, awaiting the slightest sign, but for the moment it seemed none was forthcoming.

They were led into the inner yard, broad and wide as a sporting arena. After the twilight of the cell, the mildly orange sunlight of the planet's evening was blinding, making both prisoners blink. As soon as his vision had cleared, Spock looked up to see their host sitting on a tall leather-covered chair.

At first sight, the general did not seem to make a formidable impression. He was rather short for a Klingon, judging by the average height of his soldiers, though broad around the shoulders and well-built. His hair was uncharacteristically short and almost fully grey, which also wasn't consistent with his species. But his eyes set all the things straight. Black and steady, they reflected the inner fire burning within him, lifting all doubts regarding why he was in a position of authority. Focusing on Pike, those eyes glinted malevolently, but the general didn't say anything, looking at Spock instead.

"Who are you?" he barked.

Pike gave him a slight nod, and Spock answered, "Cadet Spock of Starfleet Academy."

"And what are you doing here, Cadet?"

Pike stepped forward.

"He's here by mistake."

"Shame," Khort drawled almost lamely. "Then he'll die by mistake, too. Not an honorable death."

The soldiers laughed.

"And how honorable is it to kill an innocent?" Pike persisted. "He has no quarrel with you. I am your enemy. He has no part in this. Sparing his life would be wise."

"No," Khort shook his head.

"Why?"

"Because you want it, Pike."

"Your government is not at war with mine," Pike said. "But even at war there are rules. He's just a kid, way too young to die."

The Klingon's face darkened.

"So was Bazer."

"Your daughter was an officer who died in battle. She chose her life and her death. I might have killed her, General, but I caused her no dishonor."

Used as he had been to being talked about in the third person, Spock felt his face burn. Surely the Captain did not believe he was but a child? Such disgrace would be hard to bear. Spock opened his mouth to object, but a curt jerk of Pike's chin ordered him back to silence. The Captain was gauging reaction to his last words, and Spock was astonished to realize that they were having a definite effect on the Klingon contingent.

"Very well, Pike," Khort's eyes narrowed as he hissed his assent. "If his honor is so dear to you, you may fight for it. But think carefully now. I have brought you here so that I could avenge my daughter by shedding your blood with my own hand and I am determined to meet you in combat. You are a weakling as is your whole race. One Klingon challenge would be your limit. Are you ready to enter two?"

"If you swear upon your honor as a Klingon that if I win the first one you will let the Vulcan go, yes, I'll fight."

"Captain, no," Spock whispered urgently, his distress at the progress of the situation escalating. "I cannot allow that. I can fight—"

"Have you ever held a bat'leth in your hands, Cadet?" Pike snapped quietly but sharply.

"No, but—"

"Then be quiet." He turned back to Khort abruptly. "Do I have your word?"

The Klingon frowned for a long time before answering.

"On our world a man must fight his own battles. But my soldiers have earned a little entertainment, and this pathetic creature will not provide it," he said, studying Spock with disdain before looking back at Pike. "You, on the other hand, seem promising enough, human. You have my word. Mgreb."

One of the guards, a tall, muscular specimen stepped forward.

"Mgreb is my best combater, Pike," Khort explained. "If you defeat him, I'll let your Vulcan go. If not, I'll make sure you'll see his death before your own."

"I accept," Pike nodded, hardly glancing at his opponent.

"Captain—"

"Keep your place, Mr. Spock. I know what I'm doing."

Spock didn't doubt that and he didn't like it. But before he could do more than protest, two pairs of strong hands grabbed him and pulled him back. Spock's Vulcan strength might have given him an advantage over humans, but not over Klingons. He had no choice but to comply.

The Captain's plan was crystal clear to him now. It was obvious that Pike had known Klingon tradition well. He knew how to talk to them, which buttons to press to make them bow to his will. If only Spock had had half as much knowledge in his possession, he might have swayed the situation somehow, rather than being reduced to a mere spectator. Never before, not even in his childhood, had he felt more vexed about his slender physique. Certainly, the general wouldn't have been so quick to dismiss him had he inherited his father's impressive stance. As illogical as the very idea should have been for a peaceful Vulcan, Spock had been totally devastated at that moment by the fact that he was not considered a threat.

The rest of the guards stepped back promptly, too, leaving the middle of the yard empty for the battle. The two combaters were standing about three meters apart, facing each other. The Captain had been handed a bat'leth and was weighing it in his hands, measuring the balance. Mgreb smirked at this careful scrutiny. His own weapon was sliding in his hands with easy grace, singing in the air expectantly. Asking for blood. With a low growl, the Klingon raised his bat'leth high and launched forward swiftly. The combat began.

Spock was watching, mesmerized. Pike didn't show off as much as his opponent, but it was clear that he was no novice to this sort of fight. He obviously knew how to handle the vicious weapon, the barbarically cruel design of which reminded Spock much of the lirpas. Violent weapons for violent times. And those times seemed to once again be upon them.

Pike parried and blocked quite effectively, though the injuries he had sustained before must have been causing him pain. But no matter how stoically he endured it, Spock knew that no battle could be won by resorting to defense only. As if having heard his thoughts, Pike launched an attack of his own, making the Klingon recede several steps. Mgreb had quickly regained his position, and the end of his blade left a red line across Pike's shoulder. The guards cheered, and Spock shivered inwardly.

A thought wouldn't leave him alone. The Captain was fighting for his, Spock's, life. Knowing that his own life as an experienced officer was immeasurably more valuable. He didn't know Spock, he had seen him today for the first time, and he must be aware that the priority should have been different. But there he was, in the middle of the improvised arena, sending sparks into the air, each time his weapon clashed with that of his opponent. _'No,'_ Spock thought, awed and terrified at the same time, _'I will never understand humans. Never.'_

The fight seemed to be going on longer than anyone had expected. Both participants were covered in cuts and were breathing heavily, but neither appeared to have gained a visible advantage. Spock's breath caught, as the Captain dived into an awkward shoulder roll, evading a vicious blow. It seemed like he was terribly, inescapably late to block the next one... and he didn't. The blow never came, as instead of raising his bat'leth, Pike let it slide out of his hand, seemingly helpless. The Klingon's cry of triumph was cut short as the precisely directed acceleration had brought Pike's weapon directly into the middle of Mgreb's back. With a low wail, he sank to his knees, his eyes rolling rapidly, creating a phantasmagoric sight. And then he fell heavily face forward into the dust and remained motionless, as his vast dark-red blood poured in waves and blasts out of the terrible wound. The Klingon guards were yelling and cursing around.

"Finish him!" Khort shouted at Pike, who was still sitting on the ground, not reaching for his weapon.

"He's only wounded," the Captain shook his head. "If you treat him, he'll live—"

"And what life would it be for him after he's been defeated by a human?" the general hissed angrily. "He'd prefer death to this!"

"Then kill him yourself if you must!" Pike snarled, getting to his feet. He was swaying slightly. "I won't hit a man when he's down!"

The expression of deepest revulsion crossed Khort's face, as he ordered to his guards briskly, "Take him to the infirmary. Maybe he'll die there."

Pike glanced back at Spock, who was still held tightly by two Klingons, before turning to Khort again.

"You vowed upon your honor to release him if I win."

"Don't question my honor, human," the general said menacingly. "I keep my word. You two," he pointed at the guards holding Spock. "Get him out of the fortress. He can wait for a Starfleet vessel in the woods—if he survives that long."

"No." Spock planted his feet resolutely to the ground, and jerked his chin up stubbornly. "Captain, I will not leave without you."

"Yes, you will." Pike was on him in no time, his face stern and set. "This is a direct order, Cadet, and you will obey it. Whatever else happens here does not concern you anymore. Your task is to survive until rescued, do I make myself clear?"

Spock was staring him in the eye defiantly, not answering, and Pike pressed, looking no less intimidating than Khort in his wrath.

"I can't hear you, Cadet. I said, do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, sir," Spock replied at last, knowing he was outmatched.

"Good," Pike said. "You'll bring a full report to Starfleet, if I can't." Spock raised an eyebrow, and Pike smirked wryly. "I haven't given up on me yet, Mr. Spock. I suggest you don't, either."

"Enough," Khort's shout came from behind. "Throw him out before I change my mind."

And seeing no choice, Spock allowed himself to be dragged away, watching Pike till the last possible moment.

--

Never before had he calculated probabilities that fast. Within several steps from the yard where the fight had taken place, Spock had a full layout in his mind. If he allowed the guards to 'throw him out' of the fortress, he'd never be able to get back, not with the shields raised and operational. The Captain most certainly would be dead long before any rescue party could find them, even assuming one was underway. Spock had to find a way to stay inside the dome. It didn't appear to be a challenging task, but the thought that he would be violating a direct order from the Captain gave him pause.

This would be nothing short of insubordination. Given the nature of their respective positions, it would be worse—mutiny. Spock pressed his lips together tightly, weighing his options. He knew why Pike had given this order, and perhaps being in his place Spock would have done the same. But he was in his own place and he found it impossible to obey. If he survived this expedition, he would likely be discharged for his conduct for it was clearly unbecoming an officer.

But the Captain had literally fought for his life... How could Spock betray him after such a selfless, totally unprovoked act? Was he really nothing more than the helpless creature the Captain had apparently considered him to be? That was unacceptable. He had the knowledge and he had the training. It was time he made use of both.

Having made the immediate decision, the rest came easy. He suddenly realized that the image his appearance and Pike's words had created was playing right into his hands now. His guards obviously considered him unworthy of attention, they didn't expect any trouble from him. Even better.

Spock waited till they had crossed the enfilade of rooms to the exit and, making sure no one else was around, he stumbled, grabbing the nearest Klingon in a would-be instinctive attempt to recapture his balance. It was unlikely that that guard had even known what hit him before slumping down to the floor unconscious. The second one turned back almost lamely to discover the source of the commotion. Surprise registered on his face vaguely, but he was too late to prevent the precisely measured touch on his shoulder. Spock surveyed the fallen guards carefully, searching for a weapon, but apart from rather mean-looking knives they didn't carry any. Felt themselves secure? He didn't have the time to dwell on it.

Faintly, he heard the sound of cheers from the inner yard and realized that the second combat had begun. The Captain might have moments to live. Little could be gained, however, by turning back. Spock might have been fortunate enough to catch another couple of soldiers off guard, but they still would have been outnumbered fifteen to one, and the Captain was in no shape to face such odds.

Instead of going back, Spock decided to concentrate on locating the shield generator and trying to disable it. If the _Enterprise_ or any other ship was looking for them, it would increase their chances of success, and even if they were completely alone in this region of space for the moment, Spock hoped that he could create enough damage to draw the Klingons' attention away from the duel. He knew he was taking a considerable risk. He weighed it quickly and decided it was acceptable.

He drew a mental map of all the rooms and passageways he had seen and extrapolated the missing pieces, creating a working layout of the fortress. He thought he knew where the most likely location for the generator would be. It didn't have anything to do with either logic or intuition, just some very basic common sense. He set off at once to check his hypothesis.

The corridors and rooms were completely deserted. Spock believed he understood the reason. Obviously, general Khort had been obsessed with the idea of fighting Captain Pike for more than three years now, naturally, his soldiers wanted to witness the historic event finally happening. They believed that the fortress was completely sealed and protected. Spock searched for a way down and found one almost at once, making a mental note that Klingon fortress engineering was anything but original. The control room was exactly where he expected to find it, and, despite his supposition that at least that area would be protected at all times, there was no one on duty there. Obviously, the entertainment was long awaited.

But it was too early to declare a victory. Spock studied the control panel carefully, but he didn't speak Klingon and the universal translator couldn't help him with laconic symbols on the board. The arrangement of the switches and buttons looked archaic, and it was completely unfamiliar. He watched the indicators for any clues of what was what, but he was wary of trying any for fear of raising the alarm. If he were discovered here, he would likely be disabled faster than he would do any real damage.

Mathematics came to his aide, as he finally detected a certain logical pattern in the proportional difference between the indicators. If he was correct in his suppositions, the energy consumption of the facility was enormous. Quickly he made another survey of the tableau, correlating the symbols on the screen with those on the panel. The area he was in was completely isolated, and Spock had no idea of what was happening on the surface. He knew only that he had to hurry.

But the first combination of commands he had entered produced an undesirable, though not entirely unexpected result. An alarm went off, deafening in its persistent sound attack. Spock could hear heavy footsteps in the corridor closing in on him fast, but his eyes remained glued to the panel. If he couldn't make the shields go down, there was only one thing he could try and he barely had a second, maybe two...

The door burst open, and he was shoved away from the control panel. He collided with the back wall with a force that made his vision blur. Sounds became a haze, as a torrent of commands and curses ricocheted off the walls.

"What have you done?" A sharp demand, combined with a vicious shake. "What have you done, Vulcan?"

"I d-don't... know..."

He didn't. He wasn't even sure of what he was trying to do anymore. His own unbelievable conceit had suddenly become clear to him. Klingons might have been brutal and savage from where he stood. But they were no fools.

"WHAT have you done?" A growl.

He didn't defend himself, at least not too much. What kind of logic was he using when he believed he could outsmart thirty seasoned soldiers at their own base? Or was it emotion that made him try it? Which one? Compassion? Or presumption?

Several more blows were delivered without much triangulation, but with sufficient skill to nearly knock him out. Searing pain effectively interrupted his confused and ill-timed analysis.

"Get him out of here. Take him to the General."

He could only walk the first couple of steps on his own. Then the world faded.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

"Ma'am, something's happening!" Tora exclaimed, surprised and delighted. "I'm reading a massive fluctuation in their shields. They are holding, but the frequency is on constant rotation."

"Can we use it?" Number One whirled towards the Engineering station where Barry was studying the sensor relay grimly.

"Yeah," she drawled distractedly, eyes fixed on her console. "Looks like their stabilizers are off and they can't get them back online. A narrow beam of sufficient power should knock the shields down. Ensign."

"Ma'am." Tora sat up straighter.

"I'll try to pinpoint the weakest spots. Shoot at my command and make sure you're precise or we'll fry everyone inside. Literally."

Tora dried her suddenly sweaty hands.

"Aye, ma'am."

"Mr. Fernandez, the moment the shields are down prepare to scan for life signs," Number One told the young man at the Science station.

"Jonnson, on my mark," Barry was saying, making the final adjustments. "Fire."

"The shields are coming down," Fernandez exclaimed excitedly. "Scanning for life signs... Twenty-eight Klingons... One human, one Vulcan!"

"Lieutenant, can we transport them?"

"You've gotta do something to isolate our people," Barry shook her head. "They are too close to the Klingons. It reads a complete mess down there."

"Stand by. Ensign." Number One's eyes fastened on Tora. "Switch the ship's phasers to stun."

Tora looked up at her, clearly troubled. "Aye, ma'am."

"Number One," Barry called softly. When the other woman approached, she said in a low voice, "That's pretty heavy stuff. We don't know what their condition is. For a weakened body, an orbital stun might be lethal."

"What do you want me to do?" Number One replied just as quietly. "Take those kids down there on a rescue raid? There's a Klingon garrison down there, fully trained and seasoned. Care to estimate the number of casualties?"

"I know," Barry said gravely. "Not much of a choice. But as Chief Engineer and currently second in command, it is my duty to remind you of the risks."

"Noted," Number One said. Then added, raising her voice, "Ensign, are you ready?"

"Yes, ma'am, but—"

"I've already had one warning noted, thank you," Number One cut her off resolutely. "I relieve you."

"Yes, ma'am." Tora stood up, swallowing further objections.

She knew why she was being relieved, and it did little to alleviate her concern. She could fire the phasers as well as Number One and she had just proved it. But if that desperate measure would result in deaths or severe injuries, the current commander of the _Enterprise_ preferred to bear the responsibility herself. Which meant she considered such an outcome highly probable. Holding her breath, Tora watched as Number One activated the targeting scanners.

"Firing in three, two, one... A direct hit." Her head snapped towards the Science station. "Readings."

"Life signs... twenty-six Klingon, holding steady, one fluctuating... One human, one Vulcan, weak, but holding."

"Lieutenant," Number One turned to Barry.

"I have their signals clear now," the Engineer said. "Energizing."

Number One looked up at Tora. "Do we have any medics around here, Ensign?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Then get everyone available to the Transporter Room on the double. God only knows what condition they'll be in. Go!"

Tora rushed to the turbolift, her heart beating somewhere in her throat.

"Prepare to break orbit," Number One was saying behind her back. "Give me everything you have, Cait."

"Yes, ma'am."

--

Pike knew he was about to meet his fate. It was a foregone conclusion that two Klingon opponents would be a real challenge to beat one after the other, even if he hadn't been beaten before that. He realized quickly just how big a challenge it turned out to be in his current condition. The General proved to be a formidable fighter. Having watched Pike fight Mgreb, Khort showed nothing of the latter's arrogance or self-assurance, which had been the true cause of Mgreb's downfall. Khort also appeared to be a much more proficient combater, which explained why despite his age he was still in command. The fight didn't go very long before the Captain had been wounded several times, his exhaustion tampering with his speed and agility. The lacerations weren't deep, but he was losing blood, getting weaker. Dazed after another missed blow, Pike sank to one knee, raising his bat'leth for defense with difficulty, awaiting the final strike.

But it never came. Instead, there was some commotion, and Khort's moment of ultimate triumph was ruined by three guards emerging from the cellar. They were dragging Spock's limp body between them and shoved him roughly to the ground at Khort's feet. The Vulcan looked absolutely out, but to Pike's surprise, he stirred and lifted himself to his knees. His face was bruised, and he was emanating pain in waves. Pike knew the look well. He had assumed it a number of times himself and had seen it often enough in others to recognize it instantly. Humans usually looked like that after receiving several well-aimed blows to the region of their liver or kidney. Whatever organ could cause that much pain to a Vulcan, it was clear that the Klingons had found it.

"Is that how you keep your word, General?" Pike snarled vehemently, rage giving him his strength back. He rose to his feet menacingly. "You said you were going to release him and instead you ordered him beaten to death?"

"How dare you accuse me of being dishonest?" Khort hissed furiously. "I keep my word, human!" He turned to bark at his guards. "Report!"

"We found him in the control room, sir," one of the Klingons sneered, kicking Spock in his side. The Vulcan doubled over again, though no sound came from him. "He was tampering with the shields."

"So that is renowned Starfleet honesty?" Khort drawled dangerously, turning to Pike. "I knew there was a reason you were begging for his life. You sent him there."

"I..." Pike started to protest automatically, but cut himself short. "Yes, I did. He was only following orders. The fault is mine."

Spock made some sort of sound and a rather abrupt movement as if he was trying to get to his feet. Another blow prevented him from speaking.

"Captain, Captain," Khort shook his head at Pike. "We are of a kind, you and I. We both care more for our young than for ourselves. If he were your son, I would have killed him and let you live with that pain. But as he's not... you both will meet the same fate."

Spock lifted his head slowly, but his gaze rested on Pike, not on Khort. Guilt and shame cascaded from that gaze in waves, and Pike knew that he was glaring back and couldn't help it. Everything he fought for had been in vain, they would both die here because the Cadet couldn't obey a simple order. Damn him!

A peculiar buzz filled the air suddenly, blocking the general's barking voice, and then everything, including the Captain's darkest thoughts, was gone in a flash of bright greenish light.

--

"Captain?"

Pike blinked with difficulty, feeling some intangible but enormous weight pressing his eyelids closed. He knew the feeling. He also knew the feel of the bed beneath him, knew the meaning of the soft pumping sound coming from somewhere above his head. Sick Bay. He was back on board his own ship and, judging by the slight variance of its vibration, they were moving at warp speed.

"Captain, how do you feel?"

Pike opened his eyes finally, focusing with some difficulty on the classically correct features of his second officer. She was smiling at him softly. Then he knew it was all over. The emergency was behind them, or she wouldn't be here. He remembered her asking him a question and considered it. He could feel each cut and bruise the Klingons had left him, but the pain was dull and distant, which meant his wounds were treated and he was pumped up with painkillers. Or were those the aftereffects of the stun? He moved his arms and legs tentatively and found them slow but responsive.

"Well enough to resume command," he said and sat up on the biobed.

Immediately a wave of dizziness washed over him, nearly knocking him over, but he refused to give in to it.

"Whoa." A short dark-haired man in blue shirt with a red cross on it came to his other side quickly. "Please take it easy, Captain, you're in no shape for quick movements."

"Who are you?" Pike asked, as the young man lifted the back of the bed so that the Captain could rest on it without lying back down.

"Ensign Shenzhen, currently in charge of Sick Bay," he answered, studying the reading over Pike's head.

"Do you have a medical degree?" Pike watched him dubiously.

The Ensign met his eyes with a resolved sigh. "I am an intern, sir, but I assure you I am qualified enough to treat you."

"That's reassuring," Pike muttered. "Let me out of here."

"Just a few more tests, Captain—"

"Where's Spock?" Pike cut him off, turning back to Number One. "Is he—"

"He's right here, sir, and he's all right," she nodded soothingly.

Pike looked around the ward, but apart from Tora, there was no one else there.

"He's in the lav, sir," Shenzhen told him, somewhat ruefully. "I used a mild stimulant to bring you both around, and I don't think it agreed with his system."

"As I tried to tell you," Tora snapped. Catching Pike's glance, she blushed. "Sorry, sir."

Pike shook his head slightly, almost instantly regretting the gesture, and looked at Number One.

"Report."

"We are on course back to Earth," she replied at once. "At warp one point two, compliments of Lieutenant Barry. No signs of pursuit. Our ETA is nine hours, forty-two minutes, if we hold this speed. I apologize, sir, for having to use the orbital stun on you, but there was no other way to isolate you from the Klingons." She glanced curtly at her hands before continuing. "Our sensors showed that one of them died when we did it."

"It wasn't your fault," Pike shook his head again. "He was badly wounded. If anyone's responsible, it'd be me."

"You, sir?"

"I was the one he fought."

"Oh." Number One looked at him curiously. "Sounds like your time down there was interesting."

"I wasn't bored, I can tell you that. Ship's status?"

"Fully operational, except for higher warp speed. Lieutenant Barry has earned a commendation."

"I can tell," Pike nodded. "That's enough, Ensign, thank you," he smothered Shenzhen's protests, sliding carefully to his feet and wincing as the coveralls tugged uncomfortably.

The lavatory door opened and Spock stepped into the ward, looking every bit as out as he had on the planet, despite his bruises being cleaned and treated. His eyes settled on Pike immediately, and the unmistakable expression of guilt flooded them.

"Captain," he spoke quietly.

"Cadet." Pike straightened up, looking at him strictly. "How do you feel?"

"I'm functional, sir," Spock said instantly, apparently being the only one in the room who didn't notice his slightly swaying posture. "I am ready to resume my duties."

Shenzhen made some kind of incoherent, but clearly indignant sound, but a sharp glance from Number One silenced whatever he was going to say. Pike didn't miss anything.

"I think we can do without your help for a while," he said, a bit acidly. "Would you like to keep him here for the next nine hours, Ensign?"

"Yes, sir," Shenzhen nodded at once, adding to himself, _'And you as well.'_ But he didn't dare say it aloud.

"Then that's it," Pike concluded, starting for the exit.

"Captain," Spock said urgently, moving after him. Pike stopped, turning to face him. The Vulcan looked distinctly subdued. "Sir, I wish to apologize for disobeying your order," he spoke quietly. "At the time, it seemed a logical thing to do... but I realize that it is no excuse. I am ready to submit to whatever disciplinary action you see fit, sir."

Pike gave the appearance of considering it. His face was closed and forbidding.

"You're right, Cadet, it's no excuse. And I have no wish to punish you. What would be the point? A disciplinary action, Mr. Spock, is invoked when someone does not understand their mistake. Obviously, you do. Equally obvious is that you did before you decided to circumvent my authority. It didn't stop you from doing it anyway. No," Pike shook his head. "I see no logic in punishing you. But I can tell you that I have no wish whatsoever to serve with any officer who behaves in this way, who doesn't understand discipline and who doesn't accept his commanding officer's decisions when they don't suit him."

Taking a step forward, Pike came to point blank range with the rigid figure. Looking directly into Spock's eyes, he spoke with a mixture of sadness and disdain in his voice.

"You disappointed me, Mr. Spock. I believed you were showing great potential, I admired your original thinking and your stoicism in the face of difficulties. But your actions proved to me that you are nothing but a spoiled child who believes that the service exists for his entertainment. I have more respect for Khort than I do for you, Cadet. At least the General knows the price of an officer's word."

Pike turned on his heel curtly and walked towards the exit, stopping briefly in the doorway to look back at the immobile Vulcan.

"You will learn soon enough, Mr. Spock, that for Starfleet Command all is well that ends well. There will be those on Earth who will consider you some sort of a hero for what you did. I don't want you to be tempted, even for a moment, to believe that I will be one of them."

And without another glance at the Vulcan, Pike walked out, with Number One following suit.

--

Only when they reached the turbolift and the doors closed behind them, did Number One dare to glance at the Captain.

"Pardon me, sir. I do not intend it as criticism, but wasn't that a little too harsh?"

Pike shrugged, hardly relenting. She bit her lip, watching him warily, searching for a way to reach him.

"Sir, if he didn't disrupt the shield generator—"

"I would probably be dead right now," Pike finished flatly. "I know."

"Then—"

"Halt turbolift."

The cabin came to a stop, and he rounded on her squarely.

"Commander, he disobeyed a direct order. Insubordination, even with the best of intentions, is still insubordination. If he continues within the service, and I sincerely hope that he does, he'd better learn as early is possible that this is not how it works in the fleet. He gambled—and as if it wasn't bad enough, he did it for all the wrong reasons. He was lucky that the _Enterprise_ was in orbit, but you and I both know that such luck isn't something you can rely on at any time. Discipline exists for a reason. Chain of command exists for a reason. If he can't make himself trust his commanding officer to make decisions for him, he doesn't belong in Starfleet."

"He's talented—"

"I know he's talented," Pike slammed his fist into his palm in frustration. "That's exactly why I had to give him a slap on the wrist, and make it a hard one. If I didn't believe that he had all the makings of an outstanding officer, I wouldn't have bothered. I would have patted him on the back and made a note on his record that he'd better not be trusted with anything important."

"But instead?" She asked hopefully, raising her eyebrows.

Pike sighed.

"Oh, I _am_ going to put a note on his record." He shook his head, rolled his eyes and then grinned, a bit wryly, but sincerely, catching Number One completely off guard. "Damn, you should have seen him in that Klingon den. 'Captain, I am a Vulcan. I do not experience fear.'"

She chuckled, relaxing slightly.

"What kind of—"

"Exceptional performance under dire conditions," Pike said. "I haven't forgotten that virus of his. But I'll be derelict in my duty if I don't mention his problems with discipline. This needs to be corrected."

"Ouch. Such a note will paint him as a troublemaker."

Pike glanced at her sternly.

"He _is_. It's only fair that his future CO gets a warning."

She bit her lip, then sighed, having no counter-argument to offer.

"I guess it's better than formal charges."

"It is indeed. Don't look so upset, Commander."

"I'm not—"

"Oh, yes, you are," he smirked at her. "I know you liked him. I did, too. Don't worry, wise captains know how to read those kind of notes. Otherwise, how would I have gotten you on board?"

To his utter delight, she blushed vividly.

"Captain—"

"Running a pool on a flagship, Commander? You must have had some nerve."

"Sir, that was a very long time ago, and I only wanted to study the laws of probability more closely—"

"Yes," he nodded, amused at her embarrassment. "I spoke with Admiral Hernandez. She said you were a hard one to forget." He grabbed the handle and ordered softly, "Resume."

Number One had assumed an impeccably correct posture, as if trying to show even with body language how prim and proper she now was. Pike smothered another grin. He liked her better and better, and he couldn't miss that the delicate glow of emotion suited her incredibly.

"Sir," she spoke again, somewhat quieter. "My own decision to go after you, instead of calling for help is also questionable."

"I know," he nodded seriously. "But you were in command and you made a choice. I probably would have done the same one."

"All is well that ends well?" She arched her eyebrows beautifully.

"Success is never blamed." He glanced at her sideways. "Besides, I believe you're a little too old to be impressed by your captain's disappointment."

Number One looked him in the eye calmly.

"You never know, sir," she said before exiting the cabin.

He shook his head after her, suppressing another sigh. A damn long tour of duty this was going to be.

--

"Cadet, kindly lay down before you collapse," Shenzhen was saying in exasperation. "I don't want to call in the cavalry to put you back into bed."

"Spock, please do as he says," Tora asked pleadingly.

"I am well."

"You're not well. You've been hurt, and stunned, and whatever. You need to rest." Hating herself for a cheap shot, she added pointedly, "You've been ordered to cooperate."

Spock glanced at her darkly, despite keeping his face carefully devoid of any expression, and finally relented, allowing them to help him back on the biobed. Shenzhen studied the monitor above him and reached for his hypospray.

"Oh, holy hell. Better give you something for the pain."

"No," Spock said emphatically. "Please do not give me any more medication. The pain is preferable to its effects."

The Ensign, who was barely a year older than the cadets, blushed at the comment.

"I must admit, I don't know much about your physiology... Actually, I know little about treating Vulcans, but you're a hybrid..."

"Why don't you leave him alone then?" Tora snapped irritably. "He's in enough pain without your concoctions."

"As you wish," Shenzhen replied, insulted. "I only wanted to help."

He whirled around and left without a backward glance. Tora's attention was focused exclusively on the Vulcan.

"Spock," she started, but fell silent. What could she possibly say? She searched desperately for any words of comfort, but none came, and the awkward silence stretched on.

"I am aware," Spock said suddenly in a lifeless tone she had never heard from him before, "that you have continuously tried to warn me about the unacceptable nature of my behavior in the past. I admit that you had good reason to do so."

"Oh Spock," she sighed sympathetically and reached to grab his hand. Too deeply engrossed in his unhappy musings, he didn't appear to notice. "You think I want to say 'I told you so'? Look, I don't know exactly what happened down there, not the way you do, but from what I do know, I can tell you that I'd quite probably have done the same thing. Only I don't think I'd have had any luck at all with those shields."

He didn't seem to hear her.

"Look, it's not the end of the world, you know," she said a bit crossly. "It could have been worse. You could have gotten an official reprimand. Dammit, Spock. You could have been killed."

Slowly, he looked up at her, searching her eyes.

"You were worried about me," he observed in quiet wonder.

She let out an incredulous snort, overcome by a sudden wave of elation.

"No, you idiot. I was happy as hell that you'd been kidnapped by one of the most ruthless species in the galaxy! Dammit, you really are something." She shook her head at him. "Of course I was worried about you. You're my friend, Spock. I care about you."

"But I behaved dishonorably. I disgraced myself."

"You may think that if you wish," she said softly. "I know how stubborn you are and I won't even try to argue with you. But I'm going to tell you one thing, Spock. You may never earn Captain Pike's respect because you didn't obey his order to leave him. But you would have surely lost mine if you did."

He stared at her for a long moment, then sighed quietly.

"Humans are very illogical. I will never understand your species."

"Hey, it's your species too," she chuckled. "And it makes life more interesting."

The whistle of the intercom interrupted the uneasy silence.

"Barry to Jonnson."

Looking at Spock apologetically, Tora walked over to the wall panel.

"Jonnson here."

"Ensign, if you're not too busy, would you mind coming over to my quarters?" the Engineer's voice was far from inviting.

"I'm on my way, ma'am."

"You'd better be. Barry out."

"Damn, she's gonna have my head for this," Tora muttered.

"For what?" Spock asked, confused.

"The Admiral," Tora groaned. "Number One ordered him confined to quarters, and I put him next door to Lieutenant Barry. I didn't have the time to run through the whole ship in search of a better place, you know."

"I still do not perceive the problem."

"Well, nobody kept him in the loop about that adjutant of his or what we have been up to. The guys who passed through Deck Six say he's been rather… vocal. Hell," she sighed heavily. "I have to go sort this mess out."

"She called you Ensign," Spock raised an eyebrow.

"Yes," Tora blushed. "I got a battlefield promotion. Only until we reach Earth. Well... gotta go now."

"Tora," his voice stopped her at the door. Reluctantly, she glanced back at him. "I am pleased you did well."

"Thanks," she breathed out in relief, sensing his sincerity. "Feel better, Spock."

He lifted an eyebrow at the illogical advice, but let her go without another comment. There was too much he needed to think about and he preferred to start right away, but the emotional turmoil of the last several hours and particularly of that last hour was making it close to impossible. He needed to calm his mind via meditation. He began the initial sequence of deep breaths to achieve the first level of concentration. His body had other plans, however. Within a minute after the door had closed behind Tora, Spock was fast asleep.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

After the _Enterprise_ returned back to Earth orbit Spock was ordered to report to the Academy's infirmary for further examination. But having spent a most disquieting night there, he checked out the next morning, using the first chance he got. He was never fond of human medical care and now he felt even less inclined to spend more time recuperating than ever.

He had tossed and turned in his bed all night in the infirmary, hardly getting any sleep, thinking instead, trying to come to grips with the enormously drastic decision that was looming over him. He could see no other way, no alternate course of action. He did not deserve to be here anymore. The humans might not have discharged him officially, but Spock knew that his life within Starfleet Academy was over. After what he had done, his very presence within the organization, which was the embodiment of high moral principles and ethics, was an insult. He had no right to wear the same uniform as Christopher Pike. He failed and all that was left to him now was to make it official. To acknowledge his failure and leave.

That required a visit to the Records Office, and that was exactly where Spock headed the next morning, not even stopping by his quarters. He suspected he might have company in there, and he was in no mood to talk to Tora. Later, after he would cease to be a walking offence to anyone who had ever worn the uniform, then he would talk to her. Say his goodbyes.

Where would he go? Spock did not know. As he was walking towards the rarely overcrowded area of the complex where the Records Office was located, he mused about his options. Going back to Vulcan was out of the question. His father already considered him a failure. Spock could not envision himself stepping under that roof again, admitting that he had failed on Earth, just as he had on Vulcan. Death was frankly preferable to such an option. But if not to Vulcan, where would he go? Where in this galaxy was a place that could accept a person such as him? Unable to do anything right? Failing to grasp the simplest concepts? Failing, always failing.

He could dwell on it more later, though. Right now he would walk into that small humble side entrance and inform the records officer on duty that he wished to be dismissed from the ranks of Starfleet. He would be obliged to name a reason and he would use the one that would prevent any further questioning—personal reasons. And then he would be, as the colloquialism went, cut loose.

Spock sighed subtly, realizing he had slowed his pace. It almost looked as if his feet were opposing his intentions. But the decision was made. There was no logic in procrastinating.

"I can't believe you would actually go through with this."

The voice startled him. Spock stopped abruptly, his head snapping almost painfully towards the tall figure disengaging itself from the wall it had been leaning onto.

"Luca." Spock's heart missed a beat. "What are you doing here?"

"Proving myself wrong, apparently," the human replied sternly, closing in on him. "I would never have believed it of you, Spock. Tora told me you might try pulling off a stunt like that, but I said, no, not Spock, he would never do that."

He oozed words as he circled around the immobile breathing statue. Spock kept himself perfectly still, despite the cascading feeling of menace he was sensing from the human, pouring out of him in waves.

"Obviously you projected wrong," Spock said cautiously.

"Did I?" Luca was suddenly standing right in front of him, eyes locked on Spock's. The Vulcan tried to look away, but Luca grabbed his shoulders, not gently, forcing him back to face him. "Oh no, you don't. You will do me the courtesy of at least looking at me when I talk to you."

Spock's eyes glinted. Anger was starting to rise within him, and he stiffened, trying to control it. His emotions had always been close to the surface, and neither his current condition, nor the other cadet's actions helped mastering them.

"What's the matter, Spock?" Luca's tone was deliberately taunting. "Is the truth too ugly for you to look at?"

"Please allow me to pass."

"Not until I've had my say."

Seized by a dark impulse, Spock shook Luca's hands off of him roughly and pushed the human back.

"You are mistaken," he said coldly, "if you believe that what we shared gives you the right to talk to me in such a manner."

Luca let out a rather mean laugh.

"I assure you I have no such delusions. But I'll tell you what gives me the right, Mister. Belonging to Command track gives me the right. Having been your commander gives me the right. Fulfilling my duty to Starfleet gives me the right, dammit! You know what that word means, Spock? Duty?"

"I can give you a detailed definition."

"Does that definition include running away when things get rough?"

"I am not running away. I simply realized that I do not belong in Starfleet."

"Why? Because you screwed up big time? There's not a single person in the fleet who didn't."

"My actions were inexcusable."

"Were they? If they were really so abysmal, you'd have been court-martialed, or at the very least reprimanded."

"The fact that I have not been punished—"

"—suggests that it's not in itself such a big problem. It's not that you've done something really bad that bothers you, is it? It's the very fact that you, Spock of Vulcan, have made a mistake. You screwed up and you can't live with it. That's it, isn't it, Spock? You've always considered yourself superior to all things human and now you can't handle the knowledge that you're prone to human error—just like the rest of us mortals!"

"I never considered myself superior—"

"The hell you didn't! Spock, who always knows better. Spock, who's so damn polite when you yell at him. Spock, who'd be the first one to sacrifice himself—not because he wants to, but because 'the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the one', and he's miraculously always that one! You know, if I didn't know better I'd swear you have a pair of wings on your back. You didn't grow them while I wasn't looking by any chance? I'd hate it if my information was outdated."

Spock folded his arms across his chest, watching Luca with an impressive measure of external calm he did not really feel.

"Is there a specific reason you are insulting me for? Or are you merely—'blowing off steam' I believe is the correct expression—on a convenient target?"

"Playing victim won't work with me, Spock," Luca shook his head. "I won't let you get off the hook that easily."

"You are interfering with matters that do not concern you."

"I'm only human, Spock, indulge me. You have a brilliant mind, I won't deny that. But it might not be as good a thing as you'd think. I bet you were a damn smart kid, too. Won every ribbon your school had to award?"

"Vulcan schools do not give out ribbons."

"They must give out something. Some sort of prizes for excelling in your studies. How many of those did you bring home?"

"A number," Spock said coolly. "What is your point?"

"Being smart is not everything, Spock. Knowledge comes easy to you because your mind works this way. This is no achievement in itself. Oh, I grant you, you worked hard and all, but it's not enough—and you know it. You wouldn't be here if you didn't. Starfleet wasn't your only option."

"I could not have stayed on Vulcan under the circumstances."

"You could have gone to Denobula. To Illyria. To Tengar. If simply being a scientist would have satisfied you, you wouldn't have enlisted in Starfleet. You would have been sitting even now in some cozy lab somewhere looking into a microscope or a telescope, whichever's more to your liking. But you're here. You wanted this life, you wanted to be an officer and you fought for it! Dammit, Spock. Do you understand yourself so little? Look what you've been doing all these years. You had to fight to be accepted, didn't you? They said that as a Vulcan you should study on Vulcan—and you challenged that and won."

"How would you know all that?"

"I have my sources. How many hearings had it been? I heard you eventually had to file an appeal with the Attorney General for the brass to relent."

"That is correct, however—"

"You _fought_ to be admitted. You _fought_ to be allowed to take more classes. You _fought_ Robertson when he wanted to throw you out. You _fought_ Erwin. When no one believed you could pass the Guantanamo because Vulcans were considered too soft to even be allowed to take it, you wiped the deck with them. When Darren and Marge went down on that damned asteroid, you held the rope for six hours while we looked for them. Do you remember? You couldn't move when we got to you, but you held on long enough for everyone to make it back safely. The first thing you asked me when you opened your eyes was about the mission. It was important to you, dammit!"

"It was," Spock confirmed softly.

"Don't you see, Spock? You chose Starfleet for a reason. All these years, you were persistent in your objective. You had to fight your way through, perhaps a little more than the rest of us, but you never let that hold you back. You never let it stop you. Don't let it stop you now."

"You do not understand," Spock sighed. "All these years I believed I deserved to be here."

"And now you don't?" Luca snapped. "Because of one mistake? You know what, Spock? I think this is your arrogance speaking. You're not accustomed to making mistakes, you're not accustomed to screwing up."

"I have been 'screwing up' as you inelegantly put it my whole life."

"Not like this," Luca shook his head vehemently. "It had always been stupid humans who didn't understand you, or the circumstances or what have you. But this time it was you—you alone who took the wrong turn. You don't know how to deal with it. You called what you did inexcusable, but that's obviously not what Captain Pike thought, or he would have pressed charges against you. No, it's _you_ who can't forgive yourself this mistake. Somehow, in your view, everyone else is allowed to make errors, but not you."

"I am Vulcan."

"So are seven billion other people. They make mistakes. They don't shut down their lives because of that fact. You know what I think, Spock?" Luca stepped closer to him, invading his personal space. "I think that in your universe everyone's allowed to make mistakes. Humans, Vulcans, everyone. Save for you. You don't give yourself any margin for error. You must always be beyond reproach. And now that you know you can't be, it's crushing you. But that's one hell of a bar you've set for yourself, Spock. I don't think even your beloved Surak could have topped it. I know no one alive can. Is it logical to expect yourself to beat that? Is it?"

"No," Spock said quietly. "No, it is not."

"Then don't. Geez, Spock. It's like you're stuck in some particularly nasty chapter of _Crime and Punishment_. The slightest blunder on your part is the end of the world somehow. Don't get me wrong, I'm all for perfectionism. But I think yours has taken a rather radical form. You said to me once that no one has ever accepted you for what you are. Has it occurred to you that neither have you?"

Spock was silent. Luca was watching him sympathetically.

"You'll have to learn to live with yourself, the imperfect," he said. "We all have. I know it's no fun, and I know it's more difficult for you than it is for us because of what all those other Vulcans expect of you. But there is no other way. Running away is not an option. I know you know that, too. I know what you planned to do just now was some kind of slip, an aftereffect. It would have been an overreaction, Spock, which you would have regretted later. I'm sorry, I know you hate people meddling in your affairs. But I had to stop you. I owed you that much."

Spock shook his head subtly.

"You are in no debt to me. I..." he shook his head again, this time in obvious helplessness. "I need to think... meditate on this."

Luca closed his eyes for a moment.

"You do that. You can always resign later if you don't change your mind. The Records Office isn't going anywhere."

"How is it," Spock glanced at him with somewhat pained curiosity. "How is it that you see this more clearly than I do?"

Luca laughed out softly.

"Because I've been there, Spock. I've been there and I know what it feels like. Only I've had help. I had people who taught me that making mistakes is inevitable, but as long as I learn from them, it's okay. My family, my friends, my teachers. But you don't let anyone close, apart from Tora maybe and only to an extent. You won't even let me in."

Spock raised an eyebrow eloquently.

"Oh, shut up," Luca said despite the fact that the Vulcan was silent. "You know what I mean."

"Hardly ever."

"Well, you know what I mean now." Luca sighed. "Look, I'll be off on my final field mission by tomorrow. I don't know when we'll return, but it's going to be several months for sure. We might not even make it back before graduation day. I doubt I'll have time to chat over subspace, so this may be a goodbye. I'm only asking you to give yourself some time to think it all over, okay? Don't make a rash decision. No offense, but right now you're not thinking clearly. Take your time. It'd be a damned shame if you leave the service like that."

Spock sighed too and nodded, conceding.

"You have given me a new perspective. I will analyze it."

Luca snorted. "Guess I'll never get used to the way you do things," he said, shaking his head. "Go get some rest, you look dead on your feet. Oh, and Spock? I hope I can be your commander again some day." He clapped the Vulcan on the shoulder hard and headed back towards the main building.

Spock felt a peculiar buzzing in his head spreading and knew Luca was right—he needed rest. Then he would meditate and reevaluate his decision. But with a sudden flash of insight, he thought he knew already what this new decision was going to be. And deep within, he welcomed it.

--

The flame of the thick waxen candle flickered unevenly, throwing bizarre shadows all over the small room. Spock spared a moment wondering at that. Normally, it should not be happening in the slightly stagnant air with all windows and doors firmly closed. It was not the first time Spock mused if there was some connection between the flame of the candle and a windstorm within his mind. He focused on the shining dot, waiting for his thoughts to steel. Then it would be time to ask his questions.

If there was one trait Spock absolutely detested in Vulcans, humans or whatever other species, it was arrogance. From the very first memories he possessed, that one trait had always been present somewhere in his immediate surroundings. He hardly knew of a person who was not prone to it, Vulcan or no. His father was a prime example. His brother. Even his mother to a certain degree. His schoolmates. His teachers. T'Pring. It was something he picked up immediately and it never quite agreed with him, even when it hadn't been directed at him. Arrogance was a shortcoming he had studiously tried to avoid. Yet now he was accused exactly of that vice, and more than that, worse than that, he sensed the truth behind the accusation.

His father's expectations of him had always been extraordinary high, but they were nothing, Spock realized with a dull sense of wonder, compared to his own. Everyone he knew considered his dual heritage to be a handicap. Everyone except Garen, but Garen had been gone for too long a time for that opinion still to have power over Spock's own views in the matter. He had grown up with that conviction. And the only way to overcome it was to excel in whatever he was doing.

His father's words came back to him in a vivid memory of a conversation that had happened many years ago. Sarek spoke of the noble House to which Spock belonged, of its traditions and status. He told his son of his own status, of the position his family held in the eyes of the Vulcan people. Where everyone else was allowed some leeway, Spock was not. His every action, every slip, every small mistake was not his own, but reflected on the family. Too many eyes were watching. Excellence was the only acceptable outcome of any endeavor.

The flame shivered slightly, and Spock felt an answering shiver running down his neck.

He had severed ties with his family, but he had not abandoned the beliefs that they shared. Only he didn't realize that. Nor did he realize that he had taken them to a point where reason ended and arrogance began. The point of absolute. Sarek had raised the bar high for him. But he had never demanded perfection. That would not have been logical. Harmony could be found in life, and balance. But not perfection. No absolute order.

Spock closed his eyes briefly. He had crossed the line. He replaced logic with hurt pride. He was not in command of his emotions. That was the reason behind his actions on Zharat and the reason for his reaction to it. He was so intent on fitting in to some non-existent absolute demands that he failed to fulfill his duty. Those rules that were set for all. He thought back to the small inner yard of the Klingon fortress, saw Captain Pike's face and heard his order. Even to him, a Vulcan who was considered to be unemotional, the idea of leaving without the Captain appeared unthinkable.

For the first time Spock felt a tremendous, crushing wave of respect for the humans. Most humans in his place would have been just as hard-pressed to obey the order as he was. If Spock's emotions surfaced then, it was a foregone conclusion that any human would have been overwhelmed by his or hers. That was why they invented those rules. And that was why they followed them and obeyed them. In such a dire situation, they would have found enough strength and integrity to obey those rules, those orders. Spock didn't. What he had seen as the easy path had been in fact the hardest, and instead of following it, he decided he could afford to take a shortcut. And it was only the professionalism of those officers and cadets who stayed on board the _Enterprise_ that prevented the inevitable result—his own death.

Amazing strength those humans had shown. Amazing. And suddenly Spock wanted nothing more than to discover the mechanism of that strength and try to apply it. Now that he saw the true disposition of powers and demands, he wanted to find out if he could measure up with those. If he was or could become worthy of wearing the same uniform as Captain Pike. He could feel his admiration and respect grow in leaps and waves. For the first time it struck him that he really would be honored to be part of Starfleet, to stand in the same row with its finest officers. And to have earned that honor.

Could he still do that?

The candle light flickered once again, and Spock bent over and extinguished it. He rose to his feet fluidly and walked towards the window, the immediate darkness not making him any less sure-footed. Staring into the darkened grounds, he experienced another round of trepidation. He had his goal set. But he was uncertain as to how to proceed. His interactions with humans had been numerous over the past three point six years. Numerous and vast—and not giving an answer to his current predicament. Even engaging in the most intimate kind of contact, he had kept himself completely detached, comfortably distant. Arrogance again? As a result, he learned a lot about humans, and yet he didn't know them.

Knowing them so well, he didn't know them at all. What a paradox for a logical mind.

Spock felt an unexpected smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. Paradoxes, those he knew how to handle. Those he knew how to solve. The subject would undoubtedly prove challenging and demanding. And the first thing he would have to surrender would be his pride.

In retrospect, he thought, pulling at the window frame and glancing alongside the narrow balcony, not so high a price to pay. He checked his own feelings quickly yet again and the revision had brought him some measure of comfort. Pride seemed to be the price he could afford to pay. Nodding to himself slightly, he crawled out of the window.

--

"What?" Tora half-moaned, half-barked, opening the door.

She wasn't really all that surprised to see Spock behind it. After the kind of day she had had, she wouldn't be surprised to see the President standing at her doorstep. Or a Klingon commander. She simply wouldn't care either way.

"I apologize for the intrusion, but I need to speak with you," Spock said, fixing her with an intense glance.

"Spock," she groaned, making an effort to keep her eyes open. "It's three in the morning. Can't it wait?"

He suddenly looked as if he had been slapped, and then all color drained from his face.

"Forgive me," he stammered. "I did not realize what time it was."

That acted like a splash of cold water in Tora's face. Wide awake, she stared at him.

"Your time sense failed?"

He looked away. "Apparently. I do not know how it happened."

"Tora? Who the hell are you talking to? I'm trying to... Oh, hello, Spock."

"Good evening, Ms. Parker," Spock bowed to Tora's roommate who was smiling brightly at him, despite the late hour. "I deeply regret disturbing you."

"Why don't you come in and disturb me some more?" she suggested provocatively. "I can think of a few—"

"Some other time," Tora broke in, stepping out into the corridor to join the Vulcan. "Go to bed, Lucy." She closed the door firmly behind her and focused on Spock's troubled face. "What is it, Spock?"

He was studying his feet thoughtfully, and Tora felt her heart pick up the pace. She knew that what had happened on the _Enterprise_ had affected him deeply. That cold impassive robot he reverted into after the Captain scolded him had frightened her to bits. She could tell he was on the verge of a decision, and she suspected what it might be. That was why she went to see Luca. She could tell she herself was getting nowhere. Spock showed no signs that he had even heard her attempts at conversation. Had Luca failed as well? Was Spock here to tell her he was leaving?

Alarmed, she reached out instinctively and stopped short of touching him.

"What is it?" she repeated softly.

He hesitated a moment more, then relented, stumbling over the words. "The recent events had rendered me... that is, I have been... analyzing and I have come to the conclusion that I wish to know more about the... human ways in regard to the service." He looked up at her finally, and Tora was astonished at the open vulnerability of his gaze. "I require your assistance," he said quietly. "Will you help me?"

There are certain moments in life when realization of the deepest mysteries comes in the blink of an eye. Tora was hit by one of them there and then. Staring into his eyes, she realized just what it had cost him to say those words, to ask for help, to admit he needed someone. In all the years she had known him, Spock had never come close to asking for anybody's help. His courage had frequently struck her before, but this one was of a completely different type, and it left her breathless. He was taking a step into the darkness, not knowing yet if he would find an abyss spreading under his feet, if there would be someone to catch him if he fell. He had finally decided he had to give some trust to receive it, and he had come to her with it.

Swallowing hard, she smiled uncertainly.

"Of course." The unmistakable relief that flooded his eyes kindled the answering warmth inside her. Her smile grew more confident. "Hey, I'm wide awake anyway. Why don't we go to your place and talk?"

He nodded, but then his gaze slid down from her face and he lifted an eyebrow.

"I welcome your suggestion; however, I would recommend a... slight change in your attire before we proceed."

She stared at him blankly, then looked down at herself too and sighed. She was wearing nothing but a pair of cotton underwear in which she had been sleeping.

"I'll be a minute," she muttered, reentering her room.

Hunting down her uniform in the darkness, she smiled softly to herself. It was going to be all right, her heart sang. Everything was going to be all right now.

--

"Captain, wait!"

Pike stopped in his tracks, suppressing an impatient sigh. The debriefing had been tedious, and now that it was finally over, he wished nothing better than to return to his ship. But he could hardly ignore an admiral calling him, could he? He turned and bowed slightly.

"Admiral."

Reese took him by the elbow and steered towards a deserted window alcove.

"I wanted to thank you," the older man said quietly. "For looking after my kids. That's one hell of a thing to happen to any ship. I'm not sure they would have survived with any other captain."

Pike sighed and shook his head.

"That would not have happened to any other captain," he replied a bit bitterly. "They would have been safer with anyone else. I have made too many enemies. I just didn't realize how far some of them would go. That's exactly why I told you that a ship of the line is no place for training cruises, sir."

Reese watched him thoughtfully.

"I'm sorry for what happened, but under the circumstances... Wouldn't you say they did all right?"

"The cadets?" Pike raised his eyebrows. "Yes, I'd say they did well. Most of them, anyway."

"About that," Reese paused slightly. "I wouldn't want you to judge all of them by Spock. He's a..." the Admiral was obviously searching for a better word, but then sighed resignedly. "He's a weirdo of sorts. No one can figure out why he even studies on Earth. And you're not the first one to complain about his behavior. He's been on report so many times, your friend Belza wouldn't hold a candle."

Pike frowned.

"Admiral... I do not mean to appear disrespectful, but why wasn't this problem addressed before?"

Reese looked away, chewing his lip.

"No one knows what to do with the blasted kid, that's why," he grunted reluctantly. "We tried, Captain. But he's a case in itself. He doesn't seem to react the way humans do. No one knows how to reach him. He's just determined to do things his own way it seems." The Admiral sighed and shook his head. "If you ask me, he would have been better off on Vulcan among his own kind."

Pike didn't answer, just pursed his lips tightly. Reese glanced at him and gave him a rueful smile.

"Sounds terrible, doesn't it? But you know me, Christopher. I'm not a racist. I just really think it would have been best for everyone, the kid included. Why he'd even put himself through this, I don't know—"

"But he did," Pike interrupted him with quiet resolution. "He did put himself through this. He must have had his reasons. I don't know, Admiral," he shook his head. "You say he's a weirdo. I don't see that. All I see is a young man with a problem. Ninety percent of humans attending Starfleet Academy fall into that same category. If you didn't find a way to help them deal with it, we wouldn't have much of a Starfleet to talk about."

"You're saying we failed with him."

"I'm saying perhaps you didn't try very hard. It was apparently easier to label him as an alien and leave him alone."

Reese looked at him sharply.

"Those are hard accusations, Captain."

"I apologize, Admiral. But you asked for my opinion. I don't know him very well, obviously. From what I've seen, he may be stubborn and willful. But one thing he isn't is unresponsive, of that I'm certain. You might yet shape him into an officer you'd be proud of. If you find the right approach."

Reese sighed.

"It's a shame you don't work for us, Christopher. I have a feeling you have a talent for hard cases." Changing the topic, he asked, "How's your ship?"

"Not bad, all things considered." Pike shrugged. "I have a brilliant engineering team. And the drydock people are now giving us the best treatment we've ever had."

"Nice of them after having set you up like that," Reese grunted. "Have you heard anything about Suguri?"

Pike's face darkened. "Not yet. Have you, sir?"

"Well, they are considering a dishonorable discharge, but it's not that simple. You know he hasn't always been like that. Besides, he's not himself. He was so obsessed about security and missed a Klingon agent under his very nose—that's a hard blow to take."

"That's a telling fact though," Pike said, frowning. "They haven't been this audacious in years. And the fact that we missed Cohen will only convince them we're completely toothless."

"You're talking about a war," Reese remarked quietly. "I know there has been some tension, but... You think it would come to that?"

Pike shrugged slightly. "They are getting ready, Admiral, that's all I know. And our actions at times are unbelievably naïve. Particularly at the higher echelons. Suguri might have got it wrong. But it doesn't mean there is no threat."

"No, indeed not," the Admiral nodded grimly. "Let's hope your little adventure will be the right call for the C and C and SI."

Pike pursed his lips, but refused to comment.

"I need to get back to my ship, Admiral," he said blandly. "If there is nothing else?"

"No," Reese smiled sadly at him. "Only thank you again. And good luck."

"And to you, sir. You might need it more than I do."

Reese chuckled. "You may be right, Captain. You may be just right."


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

Lieutenant Ridley was at a complete loss. The cause of his predicament was the usual one—Cadet Spock. But the reason was such a profoundly inordinate one that the Lieutenant was getting a headache just trying to grasp it. His problem quite simply was this. In the four weeks that had passed since the _Enterprise_ returned to Earth, Cadet Spock had not appeared on report once. When the first week ended without a single incident, Ridley sighed with relief. But a second quiet week made him distinctly nervous. And by the end of the third one he was openly alarmed for he couldn't get what was happening.

It was as if the Vulcan had suddenly simply vanished from his radar. His instructors had shown no interest in talking to Ridley, which had rarely happened before and not to all of them at once at any rate. Eating lunch at a nearby table in the canteen, Ridley had overheard Mr. Robertson mentioning Spock's name, and while the details seemed elusive, there was a definite note of approval in the Martial Arts instructor's voice. It was enough to throw Ridley off balance. But it was the news that Spock had actually reached some kind of mutually satisfactory agreement with Professor Nikem that made the Lieutenant realize he was missing something, and it was a devastatingly big something.

Ridley was puzzled to say the least. It wasn't that he didn't welcome the change, but the fact that he did not understand the nature of it was making him rather nervous. For just how long did Spock plan on continuing this uncharacteristically good behavior? When would this unbelievable streak of luck end?

It all came back to his short posting on the _Enterprise_ during the big fleet maneuvers. Only the _Enterprise_ never made it there. In fact, nobody knew exactly what had happened to the ship during a missing twenty-four hours. There were all sorts of rumors circulating around, including an admiral's fall from grace and even a court-martial. The ship had been said to show the signs of having been in battle. Of those who had been on board, nobody talked, at least not too much, and what little they said didn't help clarify the situation. It was probably the first time in Starfleet history that the grapevine failed so spectacularly, and that only served to raise more suspicions.

Surprisingly, despite the mysterious emergency, the _Enterprise_ had supplied the Academy with detailed appraisals of the cadets' performances. But much more intriguing was the fact that no member of the staff holding a lower than captain's rank was allowed to read these records. It frustrated Ridley no end, for he wanted to know precisely what had happened to his ward. Talking to Spock was obviously no use, besides there was at least one thing in which the Vulcan didn't change at all—he was still as difficult to locate as ever. But his supervisor was determined not to let the matter slide.

"Ms. Jonnson," Ridley called, intercepting her in a corridor. "Do you have a minute?"

"Certainly, sir," she said, looking mildly uncomfortable.

"Come with me." He led her outside into a deserted park lane. "What's going on with your friend, Ms. Jonnson?"

"Sir?"

"Cadet Spock. I don't recognize him," Ridley complained almost helplessly. "It's as if he's an entirely different person."

She shrugged non-committally, not looking at him. "I haven't noticed, sir."

"Oh, come on," he bristled impatiently. "Not being put on report once in four weeks? Sounds like the Vulcan you know?"

Tora sighed.

"Sir, he was mostly being put on report due to some sort of accident. I guess he's paying more attention to what he's doing now."

"What happened to him on the _Enterprise_?" Ridley asked bluntly.

She frowned, standing a little straighter.

"Begging your pardon, Lieutenant, but I cannot tell you that. I've read and signed the orders classifying what had happened."

"Ms. Jonnson, please," Ridley sighed. "I just need to know if this good grace is going to end soon, that's all."

She pursed her lips, thinking.

"I don't think so, sir. I believe that what Spock lacked before wasn't really discipline, but determination. I mean, he studied here and he realized where it would logically lead, but he just wasn't sure that being a Starfleet officer is what he wants. Now I think he is."

"That would certainly explain his change of attitude," Ridley muttered. "But what made him change his mind?"

She smiled, but somewhat sadly. "Not what—who, sir. A renowned starship captain who knows how to make an impression."

"Captain Pike?" Ridley stared at her. "He certainly is one of a kind, but—"

"Indeed he is, sir. If that is all, Lieutenant? I will be late for my classes."

"Yes, thank you," he nodded, almost absently. "Carry on."

She saluted and left, obviously happy to end the improvised interrogation. Ridley stood in the shadow of the alley deep in thought.

Captain Pike. Yes, that might explain certain things. The Captain had a reputation for being a strict taskmaster and a fair judge. It had also been known that his former ship, the _Ares_, was considered the most efficiently run vessel in the fleet. Christopher Pike was known for setting the highest standards for those serving under him. Ridley himself had applied for a position on the _Enterprise_, but apparently his service record wasn't good enough. Yes, he thought, given Spock's well-established predilection towards perfectionism, this style of command must have appeared incredibly alluring. And as for Pike himself, could it be possible that the Captain had given Spock not the encouragement that he seemed to lack, but the one thing that was truly invaluable—a personal example which even a Vulcan would like to follow?

Ridley shook his head at himself. A case of hero-worship? That didn't sound like the Vulcan he had come to know, however superficially. Spock simply wasn't the type. On the other hand, all Vulcans had been known to worship—there was no other word for it—at least one hero, namely Surak, the father of their logical philosophy. Logically then, if they could feel it towards one person, some of them could feel it towards another, wasn't that correct? Ridley gritted his teeth. He hated logic, all those premises and conclusions. It was giving him a headache. Then again, trying to figure Spock out always caused him headaches, so this was hardly surprising.

Somehow, he didn't think things were really that simple. It didn't make sense. He pulled Spock's schedule for the upcoming semester and saw nothing out of the ordinary there. Apart from obligatory courses, Spock had signed up for the usual for him abundant number of field missions, all of them scientific. If he was trying to impress Chris Pike, he had chosen a rather strange way to do so. Reluctantly, Ridley had to dismiss the idea. He wasn't a scientist, but he could tell when the facts didn't fit the theory.

Then what the hell was Spock up to? And he was indeed up to something, Ridley could feel it. He cursed and cussed and still couldn't come up with an answer. But his own stirred curiosity was the least of his problems. As Spock's supervisor, he was one of the people who had to give him an evaluation by the time his studies were concluded. Ridley didn't have a clue of what he was going to say. He tried to summon words again and again, tried to fit the Vulcan's behavior into the Procrustean bed of official language and the terms used. He came up with all negatives.

Spock was _not_ consistent. _Not_ easy to work with. _Not_ easily understandable. His motivation was _not_ determined. His actions were _not_ predictable.

_Not_ a pretty picture. But when combined with _top_ scores in twelve scientific disciplines, _top_ scores in tactical analysis, _top_ scores in survival training and _exceptional_ knowledge of Starfleet operations it really started to present a problem for anyone who hoped to give him a fair appraisal.

But what Ridley truly couldn't grasp was this. While all those things were true, Spock never gave the impression of fitting them. Ridley ran mentally through every encounter he had with Spock and couldn't say he had ever been particularly impressed. Spock was a quiet type who never raised his voice or made sharp movements. If he wasn't curious about something, his eyes were mostly downcast, his posture never threatening. If he wasn't a Vulcan, Ridley doubted he would ever have had the attention he received. He would have been the kind of man one could walk past and never feel the urge to look at him twice.

But as he was Vulcan, and on top of that not exactly hard to look at, he received far more attention than he knew what to do with. In Ridley's opinion, he would have been far better off without it. Watching Spock dodge some particularly persistent humans in the corridors, the Lieutenant had a strong suspicion that Spock privately agreed with him. But his classmates' interest, however kind or unkind, was Spock's problem. Ridley was much more concerned with the sudden increase of pressure from the Academy's head officers.

After having very reluctantly granted Spock admittance, the brass had as good as forgotten all about him. The sudden interest was making Ridley very nervous. Pacing his tiny office, he had suddenly come to a stunning realization. He felt protective of Spock. It was hard to believe, but the more he thought about it the more he realized the true reason for his doubts and hesitation. He plain liked the Vulcan. Despite all the problems Spock had caused him throughout their time together, he couldn't help but sympathize with him. In a way, Spock reminded him of himself when he was that age. He knew he would probably never know what made the man tick, but he didn't want Spock to be misjudged because of his, Ridley's, inability to get into his head.

The Lieutenant laughed sardonically at himself. Spock was not unlike some old injury to him. It hurt like hell at first, caused a lot of discomfort later, but had stayed with him for so long that when it was finally treated he felt as if some part of him was missing. Maybe Spock was right after all. Humans were incredibly illogical.

Ridley stared again at the empty blank of a personal characteristic in numb frustration. Most of those were submitted two or three months before graduation, creating more room for Starfleet Personnel Office that was in charge of all postings. But officially the deadline for submission was one month before graduation. Ridley knew well that as delays were rare, the very fact of one was an alarming signal for the SPO. But he couldn't help it. If he put his thoughts to paper now, Spock's chances of getting any kind of posting would be extremely low. With so many contradicting data, it was more likely that a special evaluation committee would have to be assembled. The troublesome cadet would be dissected and scrutinized and no conclusion would be in his favor.

That system Ridley knew very well. Starfleet didn't like to waste time on people whom they didn't understand at first sight. It was much more efficient—and fast to get rid of the problem rather than to solve it. Spock was far from being any kind of lucid in communicating his reasons and intentions. He stood no chance to come through this process in one piece.

Ridley sighed again. He couldn't help Spock, he had no idea how. But one thing he could do for him and he was determined to do it. He would give him time. Four months wasn't a lot. But what he had he would give, even if it meant creating another kind of handicap at the same time. If Spock was capable of getting back on track, four months should be sufficient. If he wasn't, four years wouldn't be enough.

Decision made, Ridley closed Spock's file and turned his terminal off.

--

The official graduation ceremony was over, and the traditional open-air mixer for the graduates and their families began. Feeling slightly awkward in her brand new dress-uniform, Tora was looking over the crowded lawns with a certain sense of nervous anticipation. She spotted several members of her squad here and there, but as they were all deeply engrossed in conversations with their families, she waved and nodded at them, but didn't approach.

Her own family wasn't here. Her parents had died in a shuttle accident when Tora was still at school. Tora herself had convinced her sister not to come. Liv had moved to Denobula with her husband several years ago. There was hardly any point of making an expensive trip all the way to Earth for some two hours with her younger sister. Tora's ship was leaving orbit in three hours. She couldn't stay for the evening festivities, let alone for several more days. She promised Liv she would come to visit the first chance she got.

Frowning in concentration, Tora looked over the area again, sensing closing desperation. How was it possible to locate just one person in a crowd this size? She bit her lip, tugging at her skirt, which was in perfect order without her intervention, but she couldn't help the nervous gesture. There was one very important thing she wished to do before she would leave the planet for who knows how long. Why couldn't they give them communicators along with the new sets of uniforms?

She checked in the cadet quarters earlier, but had found Spock's room cleaned and empty. Apparently, his assignment had demanded his immediate presence as well. As Tora had only gotten back from her final training cruise last night, she had no idea if Spock had gotten any posting and where it might take him. She could try the Personnel Office, of course, but they were never happy disclosing this kind of information. If she didn't find him now, it could be years before she'd see him again.

Tora didn't even know why it felt so absolutely essential she say a proper goodbye to Spock. She just felt that the idea of leaving without talking to him was highly unpleasant, if not disturbing. They had only seen each other a couple of times during the last three months. As strange as it seemed considering her schedule, she missed him.

There was only one other place she could try, and adjusting her collar unnecessarily yet again, she set off for the most distant area of the park. Her progress through the crowded grounds was slow, and she was feeling more and more uncertain in the validity of her sudden inspiration. But when she had finally reached the relatively deserted corner of the park, Spock was there, standing under his favorite tree.

It was strange to see him in blue rather than in grey, even though Tora knew that it was the color he would wear for the years to come. He looked different somehow, and the new uniform wasn't solely responsible for this. It was as if in the relatively short time she hadn't seen him he grew both in height and in muscle. Tora shook her head determinedly to get rid of the persistent illusion. Surely, this was impossible?

Spock straightened up as she approached, and she smiled at him, half-calmed, half-nervous.

"I'm so glad you're here," she breathed out with relief. "Were you waiting for me?"

An eyebrow crawled up on the impassive face, and then Spock bowed slightly.

"I was hoping you might come," he said. "I had tried to contact you earlier, but your roommate said you would be on field training till today."

"Yeah, we've only got back last night, can you believe it?" She shook her head, smoothing the nonexistent ripples on her uniform. "What?" she asked, catching his gaze.

Spock hesitated slightly, looking mildly uncomfortable.

"Do not do this," he nodded subtly at her self-conscious motions. "There is nothing wrong with your dress."

"Oh," she blushed furiously, looking down, and finally clasped her hands behind her back tightly. "Sorry, I just feel so awkward in this... not used to wearing skirts..."

"You look beautiful."

"I... well, uh... thanks." Cursing herself mutely, she forced out a defiant smile. "You look nice, too. Blue suits you."

He raised an eyebrow.

"Fortunately."

She laughed, feeling immediately back at ease with him.

"Damn, I'm going to miss you." She looked away, slightly embarrassed for whatever reason, then tried to talk herself out of it. "So. Your folks are here?"

This time the eyebrow was definitely ironic, and Tora realized belatedly that it was probably the first time someone referred to Spock's parents that way.

"I do not believe so," Spock said dryly. "It would have been inconsistent with the... 'old man's' views on my choice of career."

Tora choked.

"I guess you were right," she stammered. "Human idioms don't exactly agree with Vulcans."

"I'm certain this is one statement on which my father and I would actually concur," Spock noted casually. Changing the topic, he fixed her with a rather warm glance. "I wish to congratulate you on your assignment on the _Lexington_. It is not often that a recent graduate gets a posting on a ship of the line."

"No kidding," she shook her head. "I was as surprised as anyone. Guess I got lucky."

"I am certain that random variation of chance had nothing to do with it," he objected. "You have earned this assignment."

"Well," she shrugged, suddenly very interested in the toes of her boots. "Still. I'm scared to bits to tell you the truth."

His gaze softened noticeably.

"I have full confidence in your abilities to, uh, 'win them over'."

She snorted. "Would you stop that? I can't believe I'm responsible for disrupting your perfectly logical speech patterns to this extent."

"You had a lot of assistance," he assured her, eyes twinkling. "However, I was being serious. You have nothing to be concerned about regarding your performance."

"Easy for you to say," she muttered. "You know where you will be posted yet?"

"Yes," he nodded. "The _Southampton_, Centauri run."

"Oh." Her face fell slightly. "They could have done better for you."

"I deserve no special treatment," he said evenly. "Ninety-two percent of our classmates get similar postings."

"I know," she nodded. "But it's so... boring."

"On the contrary, I anticipate an eventful year," he objected calmly. "It is the oldest human colony. A lot could be learned from exploring it."

"If you say so," she muttered skeptically. "Will you write to me, Spock? At least sometimes?"

"If you will do me a similar favor."

She grinned. "It's a deal. Well, I..."

"I have a gift for you," he said suddenly, catching her off guard.

"Really?" she asked weakly.

He took a flat square box out of his pocket and handed it to her. Intrigued, Tora opened it and gasped softly, her heart beginning to race. Inside, was a small crème-white gemma carved in some sort of soft stone. It was a woman wearing a set of armor. In one hand she was holding a spear, the other was lifting a horn to her lips. Her long hair was flowing in the wind, and she wore a peculiar helmet equipped with a pair of wings. The sophistication of the carving was incredible. Even the facial expression was discernable, striking in its vicious beauty.

"It is a Valkyrja," Spock told her softly. "In Norse mythology, the one who brings those who died bravely in battle into the halls of Valhalla. Also the one who inspired warriors and heroes."

"Yes, Spock, I know what a Valkyrja is," Tora said, a bit breathlessly. "But how did you know that I... that...?"

"I did not." She looked up at him, and saw that his eyes were smiling. "But the moment I saw this, I immediately thought of you. Does it please you?"

"Are you kidding? It's beautiful. What kind of stone is this?"

"It's actually ivory. The work is undoubtedly of some Celtic craftsman."

Her breath caught. "You mean that this is—_genuine_?"

He nodded.

"Quantum dating shows that it is approximately two thousand years old."

"But, Spock," she was staring at him wide-eyed with shock. "Where did you get it? It must be priceless."

He favored her with one of his rare dry smiles.

"In a manner of speaking. This gemma is a part of the recently discovered collection of Celtic artworks, found by Doctor Levain. It had been studied, recorded and then some items were released for private collections."

She stared at him. "You bought it?"

He looked at her somewhat sadly and sighed quietly.

"Your opinion of me must be very low indeed. However, if you do not believe that I have obtained this item legally, you can check with the representatives of Sotheby's yourself."

"No, no," she shook her head vehemently. "I'm sorry, Spock, really, I didn't mean that at all, I just—you just caught me by surprise that's all."

"Then you accept it?" He asked hopefully.

She was clearly terrified.

"Spock, I can't... It's too valuable... I can't imagine how much a thing like that could cost, but it's way more than—"

"This object was appraised and its exact price was established," Spock interrupted calmly. "The gift that you have given me has no price."

"What gift is that?" she frowned in confusion. "I only gave you a sweater once. It hardly measures up..."

"I was referring to the gift of your friendship," he said gravely. "I had done nothing to deserve it."

"You saved my life."

"And you saved mine. We were even, but you would not leave it at that. I resisted your offer at first. I am now grateful for your persistence."

"Spock, really, I only..."

"Besides, there was one other thing," he added as an afterthought.

"Really? What thing is that?"

"That sweater you gave me. Black _is_ my favorite color."

She snorted, despite herself, and punched him in the chest lightly.

"You are incorrigible." She looked at the gemma again and closed the box carefully. "I will treasure this. Thank you."

He bowed to her in response with emphasized respect.

"No, Tora. Thank _you_."

As he looked up at her, she panicked. Another moment of this, and she knew she would disrupt much more than his impeccably precise speech patterns.

"I think I'm late for my ship," she said abruptly, trying to break the spell.

A slight change in his eyes told her he was reading the situation perfectly. Surprise registered in his expression for a moment. And then...

Hastily, if a bit gracelessly, she stepped back. Her words came in a rush.

"Don't forget to write and please, _please_ do me a great favor and stay out of trouble."

He lifted an eyebrow.

"Is that not what makes one's life 'fun'?"

She groaned. "Of all the things you could have learned from me—you chose this?"

"The choice was mine to make. Live long and prosper, Tora."

"Stay safe, Spock," she grinned, returning the salute. "Good luck."

She laughed at yet another eyebrow he gave her and turned away quickly. She had obviously exposed him to enough of human emotions in four years. Seeing her cry while she was smiling would hardly convince him that humans were any less illogical than he already believed them to be.

She walked fast and didn't look back, but she knew somehow that he was still standing where she had left him, watching her go.

--

Spock had indeed remained in the comforting shadow of the old oak for a while longer. No one was close enough to see him, when he had pressed his palm to the rough warm surface of the tree and closed his eyes for a moment. He was looking mentally over the four years he had spent in this place, committing his thoughts to memory. Confusing as this time had been, it had also created a lot of familiar patterns which he had hardly comprehended at first, and in the end had learned to appreciate. Now he would have to abandon them. He would have to begin anew.

For a moment, he felt as if the ground had suddenly vanished from beneath his feet, and he was falling into the unknown, having nothing to hold on to. But then a wave of warmth spread over him, rising from the spot where his hand was touching the tree. He was alone, but in a sense, he wasn't. And with that illogical axiom, the feel of standing firmly on the ground returned to him in an instant.

He opened his eyes, whispered a traditional Vulcan expression of good will to the establishment that had been his home for four long and eventful years, and set off firmly and confidently towards the new horizons.

--

The End


End file.
